


Shoot For the Moon

by lunalius



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Aerospace engineering student Kun, Alternate Universe - College/University, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Disorder, Coming of Age, Eventual Smut, Film student Johnny, Friends to Lovers, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-28
Updated: 2020-08-28
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:41:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 29,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063629
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunalius/pseuds/lunalius
Summary: Even if you miss, you'll land among the stars.Kun wants to go to space. He's got a plan to get there, and he's following it to a tee. Absolutely nothing can go wrong. Right?(Everything does go wrong.)
Relationships: Suh Youngho | Johnny/Qian Kun
Comments: 68
Kudos: 101
Collections: Johnkun Fic Fest Round 1 (2020)





	1. ACT I: LAUNCH

**Author's Note:**

  * For [wentz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/wentz/gifts).



> #H057; Johnkun Fic Fest
> 
>  **WARNING:** there's heavy drinking, explicit sex scenes and exactly on instance of implied drug use through his fic. I have not lived in any of the places this story is set in, nor do I have experience in any of these cultures. While I have done some research; details may be inaccurate.
> 
> I initially wanted to write this like a screenplay, but this particular story is no good as a screenplay unless it gets turned into a film with fantastic actors who can act with their eyes. So several rewrites later, here we are: prose with mostly useless screenplay-esque embellishments. I would get a 0 for formatting on this one.
> 
> I hope you enjoy! 🥰

**ACT I: LAUNCH**

**FADE IN:**

**INT. KUN’S DORM — DAY**

KUN sits on the carpet in one of very few spots in his apartment not currently covered by stacks of clothes or paper, blinds pulled down so only a sliver of light peeks through. His laptop sits in front of him, open, on a document seemingly finished; much to Kun’s disdain, he’s well aware that it is not. On his other side lies an open suitcase, filled only with a manila folder, a leather-bound notebook, and a very large down jacket. He has his fingers buried in his far-too-long hair as he glares at the screen, willing his brain to fucking work, god dammit— 

A text notification takes him out of his funk. His eyes dart towards the bubble on the bottom right of his screen — ‘i’m hereeeeee’ — and navigates the mess of his apartment to get to the front door. He throws the door open to find JOHNNY, all six-foot-one of him, nothing more than a scarf and a beanie on top of a peacoat, multiple camera straps hanging off his shoulder, and a god awful smile for such a god awful hour of the morning. 

“There’s a key hiding under my welcome mat,” Kun points out. 

“Didn’t want to take advantage of you like that.” Johnny slips out of what used to be sneakers but are now slip-ons, thanks to sheer force and laziness. Good thing he doesn’t have Kun’s taste for expensive shoes. “Is this how you packed?” 

“I wasn’t sure what to bring!” Kun manoeuvres to the side so Johnny can make his way in; he’s much bigger and has less control of his limbs, needs more room to move around. “I know you said it’s biting cold, but—” 

“But?”

Kun points to his suitcase. “Like, is this enough? I have one long jacket, one short jacket, knitwear, um… woollen pajamas?” 

Johnny finally arrives, tip-toeing, at where Kun is pointing. He drops his three cameras onto Kun’s bed, peers into the suitcase, and laughs. “Does that shirt say ‘Do Not Disturb’?” 

Kun’s face feels hot. “It was on sale in the nightwear section at Walmart. It looks warm. You said it was cold.” 

“My room’s pretty warm already.” Johnny bites his lip. “But this is cute.” 

Ah, Kun hates it. He really does, when Johnny throws around words that Kun absolutely understands the implication of, due to how many American romantic comedies he’s watched. “Okay, but are these mom-approved?” 

Johnny blinks. “My mom let me ride out my middle school emo phase so I don’t think she has a right to complain about what you wear. Besides,” Johnny reaches for the closest pile of clothes and unfurls a god awful tennis sweater, “What could she possibly have against this Gucci knock-off?” 

“Ugh, pack it in, then.” Kun’s eyes flit towards his bed, the image of Johnny’s photographic equipment strewn across his bed oddly calming. He’s seen it so many times before; maybe it’s familiar now. (Or maybe it feels like home for… other reasons.) “Hey, is this the old film camera you used to carry around in undergrad?” 

“The Yashica, right?” Johnny looks up briefly from Kun’s laptop, tennis sweater half folded in his hands. “Yeah, it is.” 

Kun picks it up. It’s the kind of heavy you only get from things that are decades old. “You looked like an idiot carrying this around campus.” 

Johnny gasps, offended. “I was the envy of my Moving Image Foundations II class in freshman year, thank you!” 

“You impressed a bunch of 18 year olds. Congratulations.” 

“ _And_ 19 year olds. It was spring semester.” Johnny whips the sweater out again, as if undoing all his progress folding exactly one sweater would add dramatic effect. Kun thinks he hates him. “Why don’t you get back to your dissertation? That’s what you were working on, right? I’ll pack and clear up for you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. Everything you need is around here?” 

“Except toiletries.” Kun flops onto his bed and accepts the laptop Johnny passes to him. “I’ll get those later. Thanks, Johnny.” 

“Don’t mention it. I’m just excited! I finally get to show you my hometown.” 

“I’m a little stressed that we’re both going on holiday mid-dissertation,” Kun starts, because he always needs to start with a disclaimer, even if it’s one Johnny has heard countless times before. “But you speak so highly about your home and your family. I’m glad I finally get to see it.” 

Johnny beams. “I’m glad you get to see it, too.” 

And that’s when Kun has to look away. _Focus._ He’s got a dissertation to write. A trip to Mars to plan. Equations to get in order. He’s going to see more Johnny than he ever has over the next few days, anyway. 

He sneaks just one peek in Johnny’s direction, and finds that the elder is looking back at him from the corner of his eye, an almost smile on his lips. It’s hardly a second — Kun’s lucky to catch it, really — before he busies himself with a pile of clothes on his right. 

Kun doesn’t dwell. He shuffles back up his bed so he can cross his legs and get to work. 

**INT. AIRPLANE — DAY**

Kun’s eyes sting as they stare at his laptop screen, and he swears they’re turning red. He’s asked the air hostess for a wet towel twice, just so he can put it on his eyes and hope it wakes them up. Something about the dim airplane lights and the glare of his screen, even on its lowest brightness, is getting to him. 

Johnny’s asleep on his shoulder. Kun can feel a damp spot on his turtleneck. 

He looks out the window to see patches of greens and yellows peeking through thick cloud. They’re probably somewhere over Oklahoma by now, judging by the time, and if Kun remembers the flight route correctly. This high up, he can only make out farm from forest by colours. The sky is ominously grey. 

There’s a ding. Kun looks up to see the seatbelt sign back on. 

“Attention all passengers.” Kun snaps his laptop shut. “We’re undergoing some turbulence at the moment, so the seatbelt sign is switched on. Please put away all laptops and large devices, and stow your tray tables.” 

Johnny’s head rolls onto Kun’s back as he leans over to put his laptop away. Kun feels Johnny’s head turn, lips brushing against the fabric of his shirt. He hopes Johnny doesn’t feel the goosebumps on his neck. “What…?” 

“Turbulence. We’re not there yet.” Kun waits for Johnny to move his head before he leans back again, rolling the kinks out of his shoulder. 

Johnny’s hair is stiff where his head was touching his headrest, and his eyes are puffy and unfocused. Kun wants to rub them awake. “Did I drool on your shoulder? Sorry.” 

“Don’t have to be sorry. You knocked out pretty fast.” 

“Didn’t sleep much last night.” Johnny stretches his limbs out like a starfish, arms jutting out into the aisle — Kun fights the urge to cringe — before he brings them back in to do up his seatbelt. “Had to make sure the camera plans were finalised before I left. I hope Alexa doesn’t have a problem with them this time, ‘cause I can’t exactly film any more tests.” 

“And if you do?” 

“My AC has access to the cameras, so we’ll see what I can do remotely.” 

Kun raises a brow. “You trust him enough?” 

Johnny snorts. “No, but it’ll have to do. I booked this time off ages ago. Pretty sure Alexa will let it pass just to push forward, anyway. She’s been too picky.” 

“And you don’t have to be there for the rest of it?” 

“It’s just crew and cast recruitment. All I have to do is send in my recommendations.” 

“Sounds like that’s a whole week of waiting.” 

Johnny crosses his arms, groaning far louder than anyone on a plane should. “Don’t remind me. Was two more years of college even worth it?”

“It will be for me.” 

A pause. “Yeah. For you, it will be.” 

The plane shakes a little. Kun’s eyes dart toward his laptop, snug in the seat pocket. Unconsciously, his hands grip his seatbelt. 

He doesn’t mind jumpy flights at all, as long as he’s flying the plane. It’s all well and good when you have full control of the ship, navigating through whatever you have to by yourself. But in the passenger seat, all he can do is watch the clouds go by and take the bumps and drops as they come. 

Johnny’s head returns to its place on his shoulder. Kun checks to see if he’s fallen asleep again, but he’s wearing his glasses and he has a book out. Johnny’s breath fans out onto his collar, and Kun doesn’t know whether he likes it or not. (He does like it. He’s just scared to admit it.) 

“Wanna read with me?” Johnny asks. He moves the book so his wrist rests on Kun’s thigh, halfway between his hip and his knee. 

Kun forces himself to swallow. “Sure.” 

**CUT TO:**

Kun isn’t aware he’s hogging the entire view out the window to himself until he feels Johnny over his shoulder. He leans back so he can see, but Johnny just gets further in his space instead.

“That seatbelt does nothing for you.” 

Johnny chuckles quietly. “I’ll lean back when we’re closer to landing, don’t worry. Just wanted to see the city.” 

Kun rests his head against his seat, letting Johnny see better. The houses are probably different from the ones Johnny can see from their separate angles, but they’re all covered in glistening white, roads like veins through the city. They’re not on the side that can see Lake Michigan, but Kun has seen plenty of lakes before. He hasn’t seen _snow_ like this before, though. 

“What are you thinking about?” Johnny murmurs. 

“What I always do. How small we are compared to the sky.” 

“Sappy. Ask me what I’m thinking.” 

Kun sighs. “What are you thinking about, Johnny?” 

“Home.” 

Kun finally pulls his gaze away from the view outside, turns so he can feel the edges of Johnny’s hair against his mouth. “Sappy,” he mocks. 

Johnny looks pleased. His smile is far too wide considering he’s just been insulted. 

The plane lands and they wait for the families and students behind them to rush past, all having pulled their luggage out from the overhead compartments before the seatbelt sign was even off. With most of the aisle to themselves, Johnny dumps their carry-ons on his seat and leads the way, Kun not far behind him. 

The exit is close to the cockpit. Kun does his best to sneak a glance inside as best he can without the pilot noticing. 

Johnny waits for him at the stop of the steps, all three cameras hanging precariously off his shoulder. “Nerd.” 

“Shut up.” 

**EXT. O’HARE ARRIVALS — DAY**

Kun finds himself in JOHNNY’S MOM’s arms before he can even think. She’s much smaller than he expected, and maybe her arms remind him of his own mother a little bit, so he indulges. He doesn’t have time to observe the wreaths hanging from every nook and cranny, the ‘Merry Christmas’ written practically everywhere, when she pulls him away to place two wet kisses on each of his cheeks. “Kun!” 

“Hi—” Kun starts, but he’s quickly interrupted, a hand shoved towards his chest. JOHNNY’S DAD has a genial smile on his face, smaller than his wife’s but no less genuine. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” His voice is much quieter, too. 

“It’s nice to meet you too, uh, sir.” As Kun accepts his hand, all he can think is how he definitely should’ve asked Johnny how to refer to his parents before coming here. He knew what to say in Chinese, but… 

“Abeonim,” Johnny’s father says, as if reading his mind. 

Kun nods. “Abeonim.” 

“Eomeonim,” Johnny’s mom says, pointing to herself. “Johnny, I thought you would have briefed him already!” 

Johnny rubs the back of his neck. “Sorry, guess I forgot.” 

“He’s going to need it for the rest of the trip!” Eomeonim looks Kun up and down. “And maybe longer than that.”

“Mom!”

She doesn’t react, instead rubbing Kun’s shoulder. “You’re just as handsome as Johnny said you are.” 

“Oh my god,” Johnny mutters, embarrassed. 

Kun hopes his ears aren’t as red hot as they feel. He doesn’t even need the beanie, at this point. 

“Shall we get going?” Abeonim asks. “It’s freezing out here.” 

“Yes, let’s!” Eomeonim claps her hands together. “Are you boys hungry?” 

“Very hungry,” Kun says quickly. He’s honestly not actually that hungry; he snacked on salted peanuts the entire trip and it was a fantastic breakfast, but hyperfocusing on food means he doesn’t have to focus on anything else. 

“Good!” Abeonim laughs, looking over his shoulder. “We’ve made plenty!” 

Eomeonim squeezes Kun’s shoulder again. “I know you have a lot to do, but you’ll come to Mass tonight, won’t you?” 

It strikes Kun very suddenly — and he feels stupid that it didn’t occur to him before — that all mothers are the same. Venus fly traps luring him with their sickly sweet smiles and the promise of food before they swallow you whole. 

“Of course,” Kun nods. “Wouldn’t dream of missing out.” 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — KITCHEN — DAY**

Johnny’s house reminds him of his family’s rural bungalow, of which Kun can only remember flashes — both large, close to nature, enough distance from your neighbours that they can’t hear your mother yell about what a pigsty your room is. He can’t imagine the sheer amount of stuff the Suhs must own to make a house this big so homely. His parents must have managed it once, but Kun wouldn’t call that big old house home. 

There’s Christmas decorations on the counter, hanging on the walls, the fireplace, the piano. There’s tinsel draped over the not-very-Christmas-y paintings on the walls. But what Kun is most jealous of is the Christmas tree. He’d always wanted one back home, but the most that was deemed necessary was a tiny table-top one with little plastic needles, too feeble to hold any ornaments. When they’d moved to Shanghai, the tree was basically unusable, and his mother had resorted to decorating her bonsai with unravelled cotton balls so they looked like snow. 

The tree in Johnny’s house is very large and very real. The ornaments are colourful, gaudy almost, and every once in a while there’s a picture of Johnny stuck to a stocking or a ball. 

Eomeonim’s kitchen is also huge, but the smell of her cooking still manages to occupy every corner. 

“I’ve never cooked Chinese food like this before,” she says, turning on the gas stove. “It’s normally just chow mein, hot and sour soup. Honestly, if we want Chinese, we just order.” She lifts the saucepan and moves aside so Kun can see the meatballs in a simmering red sauce. “This is from Shanghai, right? Lion’s head?” 

“ _Shizi tou_ ,” Kun nods. “I don’t know if it’s originally from Shanghai, but I don’t think anything is originally from Shanghai. It’s very multicultural.” 

Eomeonim tuts. “I should’ve just made chow mein.” 

Kun considers pointing out that chow mein is American food, and decides against it. “No, Eomeonim, this is great! It smells delicious. Would you like any help?” 

“No, don’t bother yourself. Say, how is your dissertation going?” 

Kun leans against the counter, runs his hands over the stone. “It’s going okay. I have a lot to do, though.” 

“What’s it about?” 

“I’m comparing architectures for Earth-Mars communication and coming up with the best strategies for manned missions to Mars in the future,” Kun recites easily. “It’s a little shifty at the moment, we can only properly communicate with our rovers at certain points in the orbit, during certain timeframes. That won’t do for when we have to send humans up there, so I’m helping work out a strategy for longer and better quality communication.” 

As he talks, Eomeonim fills another saucepan with water and puts it on the heat. “That sounds fascinating.” 

“It’s pretty cool. And I get to tell people it’s rocket science,” Kun grins. 

“You want to be an astronaut, don’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“Johnny mentioned as such. He said you’d be going back to China to join their space agency after college.”

“The CNSA, yeah.”

“That’s a big dream, isn’t it? Do they take recruits that young?” 

Kun grips the end of the counter. “Not typically, no. But I’ve already clocked in more than the required flight experience, and anyone with an engineering background is prioritised. I’ve also got referrals from people in college, and I’m trying to get some from back home. I should be able to get in.”

Eomeonim hums. “If you’re sure. It seems like quite the goal, but you must be confident for a reason.” 

Kun nods. “I am.” 

“Hello,” Johnny lilts, sliding into the kitchen. “Smells good, Mom!” 

“Hands off!” Eomeonim smacks Johnny’s hands away from one of the open side dishes on the counter. “Wait until it’s lunch time, will you? Insatiable, you are.”

“I’m hungry!” 

“I find that hard to believe, considering you’ve been sitting outside with Appa and the barbecue and he was definitely letting you steal meat. Get out of here, go show Kun around the house.” 

Johnny hooks an arm through Kun’s and drags him away as Kun compliments Eomeonim once again on how good her food smells, and how he can’t wait to eat it. “Suck-up,” Johnny says when they’re well out of hearing range. 

“I don’t want to make a bad impression.” 

“I don’t think you can make a bad impression if you tried. C’mon, let me show you where you’re sleeping.” 

Johnny’s bedroom is upstairs, tucked away into a corner, much larger than either of their rooms back in Austin, or Kun’s room in Shanghai. The walls are covered with film posters, album artwork, postcards, and photos of Johnny with his friends from school and college. Kun’s in many of them; he laughs to himself at how many pictures feature the Asian Students Society club room where he spent the bulk of his undergrad, and the banner on the wall that just says ‘ASS’. 

There’s a corner dedicated to Johnny’s graduation. There are his framed headshots, and right next to them are Johnny’s own pictures of the party they had later that night — photos of a flushed drunk Taeyong, a blurry, beige thing that Kun wishes he didn’t know was Yuta’s bare ass, and ones Doyoung took of Kun half-asleep, clinging to Johnny like a koala, thinking they’d never see each other again. 

“What are you going to do with all of these when you move out of home?” Kun asks. “Leave them here?” 

“I’d take some with me.” Johnny reaches over his shoulder and Kun can see a hint of that old camera from the corner of his eye. He taps his finger on a picture of Kun at his own graduation, hugging a giant teddy bear, Johnny making bunny ears behind his head. “I’d definitely take this one.” 

Kun scoffs, turning right in time to see Johnny point the camera at his face. “Suck-up,” Kun teases. 

“To who? You?” Johnny sticks his tongue out. “I don’t need to suck up to you.” 

Kun rolls his eyes and shifts his attention to Johnny’s desk, littered with cameras and the odd book. “How many cameras do you have?” 

“You, more than anyone, are aware that I have a problem.” 

“I am.” Kun picks one up that looks similar to one his father owned when Kun was a boy. He lifts it to his eye but sees nothing but black through the viewfinder, and scowls. 

Johnny grins like a boy who knew he’d win at Mario Kart, and _did_. “You have to turn it on.” 

“Well,” Kun huffs haughtily, “I just wanted to show you what it’s like to have a camera in your face all the time.” 

Johnny only grins wider; Kun’s blood pressure spikes. 

“I’m going downstairs. Your mom might need help.” 

“Suck-up.” 

Kun is shooed away from the kitchen, and the backyard where Johnny’s father is barbecuing meat. All that’s left for him is to sit in the big old living room, Johnny following him like a family pet. Kun runs his hands along the glossy black fall of the upright piano tucked away into the corner, runs the tips of his fingers over its gold hinges. “Do you still play?” 

Johnny shakes his head slightly. “Not really. Not since high school.” 

Kun swipes at it again — not a speck of dust. He pulls the fall open, and after a moment’s hesitation, plays a quick C major arpeggio. It’s clearly out of tune; he tries not to wince. 

“You can play the piano?” Johnny asks. There’s more to the question than mere curiosity, but Kun can’t put his finger on it. 

“I’ve played all my life.” He presses down on the G sharp, third octave. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a musician.” 

“Oh yeah, you did tell me that.” Johnny prowls closer. “Play something.” 

“Do you have to film me?” 

“Yes. Absolutely.” 

Kun glares down at the lens. “I don’t think I know anything off the top of my head.” 

“Play Mary Had a Little Lamb. I don’t care.” 

Johnny is goading him, Kun knows it, but he rises to the bait anyway. He kicks the stool back far enough to sit, back straight, fingers curled like they were resting lightly on his knee. “I think I can do better than Mary Had a Little Lamb.” 

Except the only thing Kun kind of remembers how to play is, pathetically, River Flows in You. He reviled it as a child, being forced to listen to it at least four times every piano concert, or hearing someone stumble through it through the walls of the music rooms while waiting for his examination. But as he grew up and was subjected to it less and less, it became less that annoying song he heard a million times and more the only thing he remembers how to play through sheer muscle memory, apart from Joplin’s The Entertainer. When he goes home for college and he’s forced to impress an elderly guest, it’s the only thing he can whip out that he feels proud of. It’s a beautiful song and they always tell him as such. 

Johnny snickers, just once and very quietly, in the pause in the second bar. Kun ignores him and continues playing — not well, admittedly, but with the appropriate gusto. It’s even worse because the piano isn’t tuned, and the house is designed just so that Kun _knows_ the sound is travelling all around it, and he’s not exactly playing for some unsuspecting lady that his mother’s just invited over. 

He pauses briefly when the song lets him. 

“Go on,” Johnny says quietly. 

So Kun does. 

“It sounds beautiful, Kun,” Eomeonim says, making Kun almost push away from the piano as if he’d been caught masturbating. He didn’t even know she was there. “It’s good to see that thing put to good use. I always ask Johnny to play, but all he does is play a nursery rhyme and call it a day.” 

“Maybe if you got the piano tuned,” Johnny mumbles. 

“If Kun can play something beautiful without tuning, then so can you. We didn’t send you to piano lessons for ten years for you to act like you’ve never seen one.” 

Johnny sighs, putting his camera down. “Can you not lecture me? You’re wasting my film.” 

“Use your iPhone then.” She places her hands on her hips. “You know, I take the most beautiful photos, all I have to do is set it to Portrait Mode—” 

“Mom, a blurry background doesn’t automatically mean—” 

“—It looks so much better than your grainy videos you keep posting on Instagram. Don’t be so shocked, I see it all. Peniel’s mom follows you and she shows me everything.” 

“I, also, think Portrait Mode photos are way better than Johnny’s Instagram videos,” Kun adds, because he feels like he has to. 

Somewhere between Eomeonim’s gasp of delight and Johnny’s gasp of horror and betrayal, Abeonim peeks around the doorway, tongs in his hand, a glimpse of the beige apron he’s wearing. “Barbecue is ready! Oh, are we not eating yet?” 

“Oh, let’s eat! That’s what I came to tell you.” Eomeonim smooths out her sweater. “Johnny’s been groaning about being hungry ever since he landed. Kun must be hungry too!” 

“Starved,” Kun agrees, even though he isn’t starved. Johnny chuckles by his ear; Kun didn’t even realise he got so close. “Don’t say it.” 

“I don’t have to. You know it’s true.” 

“Eff you.” 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — JOHNNY’S CHILDHOOD BEDROOM — NIGHT**

Kun has his laptop set up with a spare monitor, fished out of the Suh basement and now sitting cramped on the corner of Johnny’s desk. It’s not quite the ideal set-up, but it’ll do for the week away. When it’s all booted up, Kun feels like this — desktop wallpaper of Jay Chou’s wedding aside — could do it, this could actually get him to buckle down and concentrate and actually make good work on his dissertation, even if he’s on holiday. 

And then he stares at his to-do list for three minutes. 

It’s not the first time he’s sat down to do something and his brain hasn’t worked in his favour. He doesn’t think it’ll be the last time either. It’s just frustrating that things aren’t getting on when he was sent up here to work in peace instead of helping Johnny’s parents clean up after dinner. 

It’s especially frustrating because, even though he’s well ahead compared to his classmates, he has so fucking much to do. 

He should type something. How is this section supposed to begin, anyway? 

He stares at the heading in front of him: 2.1.4 Faster-than-Light communications.

He checks his dissertation proposal, open on the bigger monitor. He knows exactly what this section is supposed to say. 

But how the hell does he write it up? 

“Knock knock,” Johnny calls from the other side of his closed door, instead of actually opening the door. Kun is grateful for the distraction nonetheless. 

“Come in!” 

“You’re supposed to ask who’s there.” 

Maybe less grateful for the distraction, now. “Who’s there?” 

“You.” 

Kun inhales very, very slowly… “You who?” 

“Yoohoo!” 

…And he exhales even slower. 

“Hey, let me in!” 

“You have hands. Open the door.” 

The door swings open after a struggle, Johnny’s arms stuffed full with blankets and pillows. “My hands are kind of full, you know.” He dumps them unceremoniously on the mattress Kun and Johnny’s dad had spread out earlier. “I also didn’t know if you were decent.” 

“I’m writing my dissertation, not jacking off to it.” 

“Hm.” Johnny’s made his way over to his desk, peering into Kun’s screen in a way that makes Kun want to scream. “I can see that you’ve been writing.” 

Kun eyes the lack of words on his screen with contempt. You’ve betrayed me, he thinks. 

After a beat, Johnny’s arm is around the back of Kun’s chair. He runs a finger down Kun’s open bullet journal, down the crossed-out top half of his to-do list. “You’ve already done a lot today.” 

“I wrote those sections in the morning and on the plane.” 

“How many words is that?” 

“Like, 800?” 

Johnny makes a very exaggerated impressed expression; Kun, beyond logic, still preens. “That’s a lot.” 

“350 of those I kind of already had written down. They’re just definitions.” 

“That’s still 500 words. That’s a lot.” 

“800 minus 350 is 450.” 

“I was rounding up, duh.” 

“You can’t round up in a word count—” 

Johnny places a hand on Kun’s shoulder — the opposite one, so it’s like his arm is _around_ Kun, his traitor mind supplies — and points at the screen. “What do you need to write here?” 

Kun frowns. “Well, 2.1 is about communication technologies.” 

“Mhm.” 

“So in 2.1.1 and 2.1.2, I defined two other types of technologies already used to communicate in space and I compared them. But both of them have serious delays when communicating between Earth and Mars. Faster-than-Light communication is a concept that uses quantum mechanics instead of electromagnetic waves, so theoretically it’d be faster. That’s an oversimplification, it’s way more complicated than that—” 

“Then write that down.” 

Kun screeches to a halt. “What?” 

“What you told me. Just write that down.” 

“I dumbed that down for you, I can’t just write it into my dissertation.” 

“Well it’s not like this is your final draft, is it? Just edit out what doesn’t feel right afterwards.” 

Johnny makes it sound so easy. Kun thinks there’s no way this can work, but he starts typing anyway, just to humour the guy. Three sentences in and he’s going back to rewrite the first sentence better, and then it’s smooth sailing from there. Kun doesn’t even realise he’s finished the entire thing and then the sub-section after it until he’s run out of things to rewrite. 

He swivels around in his chair. Johnny is sitting on his bed, headphones in, laptop on his lap. He has his bottom lip caught between his teeth. Kun lets himself linger on the sight for longer than he should; Johnny is engrossed in whatever he’s watching, and doesn’t notice. Kun almost doesn’t want to interrupt. 

“What are you watching?” 

Johnny startles, stares at Kun with eyes wide before morphing into something more annoyed, something much easier for Kun to handle. He pushes his headphones off of one ear. “In the Mood For Love.” 

“Dude. I know it’s your comfort movie, but that’s the fourth time you’ve watched it this month.” 

“I’m just trying to stay awake for Mass. There’s still over an hour left.” Johnny yawned, stretching his arms above his head. “Wanna watch it with me?” 

Kun shakes his head. “I think I’m gonna write more.” 

“Your loss.” 

Kun watches Johnny adjust his headphones back snug on his ears, and pull his thick blanket closer up his flannel pajamas. His bed was just big enough to fit two people. 

He looks back at his laptop screen, and at the heading in front of him, **2.3 Communication architectures**. He scrolls down through all the sub-headings he’s plotted out to write for a later date. There’s a lot. He’s on Chapter 2 of potentially 7, and he has a long, long way to go. 

Johnny’s question from earlier floating around his head: ‘What do you need to write?’ 

He scrolls back to the section he needs to tackle, and goes from there. 

**INT. ST CHONG HA SANG CATHOLIC CHURCH — NIGHT**

Mass is much longer than Kun expects it to be. Johnny had warned him it’d drag on, but between all the sermons in Korean and the songs he doesn’t recognise, Kun feels like he’s been here half a day. 

Johnny had also told him that if he fell asleep, someone in his extended family would probably blacklist him, so Kun tries his damned best to keep his eyes open. He thinks it’d be a lot easier to stay awake if they just sang Jingle Bells instead. 

(In an ideal world, they’d be playing Mariah Carey, but Kun doesn’t want to ask for _too_ much.) 

He tries to focus on THE PRIEST’s fantastic haircut. It looks a lot like Johnny’s preferred style of hair, which he sheared off in preparation for his trip home. Kun tugs on the sleeve of Johnny’s sweater during one of the songs to tell him as such. 

Johnny’s ears, much to his delight, slowly go red. He doesn’t answer, though, merely bringing a finger to his lips while staring straight ahead. 

At some point, Johnny nudges him, and everyone starts to get up. Kun wonders how much Korean his friend knows — he’d always told him he didn’t know much. 

Johnny seems to read his mind. “I always used to go to the English version of this mass on Christmas mornings. I know the drill.” 

“Ah.” 

“This is the Sign of the Peace.” Johnny held a hand out. “You shake hands with the people around you.” 

Kun accepts his hand. “What’s the point of this?” 

“No idea. Love thy neighbour, or something?” 

“Kun,” Eomeonim calls, and Kun takes the distraction from the very deliberate way Johnny has let his hand linger. It also delays the inevitable dealing with the strangers around him, all extended family and family friends that apparently know Kun much better than he knows them. He’s heard enough “Oh, so _this_ is Kun” to make his head spin. 

Everyone is far too friendly when he does turn around to greet them, and he doesn’t miss the often pointed looks they throw at Johnny as well. 

He wishes he could ignore it. 

“Just a few more prayers before we finally get alcohol,” Johnny whispers as they take their seats again. 

“Johnny,” his mother hisses. 

“Sorry. Just a few more prayers before Holy Communion, where we can finally accept the body, and more importantly, the blood of Christ.” 

Eomeonim looks like she wants to say more, but the priest has started talking again, and Kun has to cover his mouth so it doesn’t look like he’s laughing. 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — JOHNNY’S BEDROOM — DAY**

One of the first things Kun notices when he wakes up is that he’s fucking _comfortable_. Half his body is uncovered by his blanket, but he still doesn’t feel too cold or too stuffy. His pillow is nice and firm, which he noticed last night, but now it just feels like he’s back home again. He might’ve been fooled, too, if he couldn’t feel the rough carpet under his right arm. 

Reluctantly, he blinks his eyes open, lets the gunk crack and fall away. It feels like it’s the right time to be awake, but he’s not ready to get out of bed yet, so the plan is to just preview his texts and scroll through Weibo— 

Except he checks his phone and it’s 11:45 in the morning, and Kun has slept for more than 10 hours straight. 

“Fuck.” He shoots upright, nearly hitting Johnny’s knee, which is hanging off of his bed. He grabs Johnny’s ankle and tugs. “Johnny.” 

There’s groaning, the leg moves away. Kun gets on his knees and watches Johnny turn over in bed, shoving his pillow over his head. 

“Johnny,” he repeats, shaking his friend’s shoulder. It takes every ounce of his willpower not to let his hand slide down to Johnny’s (very big, very, _very_ big) biceps. 

“What?” Johnny’s voice is muffled, annoyed. 

“It’s almost noon. Wasn’t your mom supposed to make pancakes for breakfast?” 

Kun counts to two before Johnny pulls his head out from under his pillow, eyes wild. “Fuck.” 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — DINING ROOM — DAY**

Kun still feels the sleep in his body when he arrives downstairs, despite taking the time to brush his teeth, wear something decent and splash enough water on his face to look like he’s been awake for hours. 

Both of Johnny’s parents sit at the dining table, Eomeonim on her phone and Abeonim with a newspaper. Kun can’t believe people still purchase physical newspapers anymore; his own parents transitioned to the iPad a long time ago. 

“Ah!” Eomeonim puts her phone down. “Good morning!” 

“Or should we say ‘good afternoon’?” Abeonim doesn’t look up from his paper. As Kun gets closer, he notices a pencil in his hand, the daily sudoku half filled out. 

He feels Johnny bristle behind him. “Sorry, I just kept sleeping.” 

“Obviously.” 

“Sorry,” Kun adds. He can’t tell if the man is mad or not, but Abeonim looks up and gives him a soft smile. Kun’s still in the black. 

“Shall we have pancakes for lunch?” Eomeonim asks cheerily. She’s up on her feet before either of them can give an answer — and honestly, Kun’s answer was yes, anyway. He’ll never say no to pancakes, especially if they’re free. 

Johnny follows his mother into the kitchen, Kun pulls up a seat for himself, not sure if he should make conversation with Abeonim or not. He’s sitting diagonal to him too, because he didn’t want to sit in the seat Johnny’s mom just sat in, which was probably still warm and Kun’s not quite there yet. The only other option is the head of the table, and Kun’s _definitely_ not there yet— 

“Did you sleep well?” Abeonim asks. 

Kun shoots up in his seat the way he always does when an adult speaks to him. “Yes! I slept great.” 

“The floor wasn’t too uncomfortable?” 

“Not at all! I slept better than I have in a while, actually.” 

“Good!” Abeonim adjusts his glasses. “I told Johnny we could give you the spare room, but he insisted on sharing.” 

“Oh, I really don’t mind.” 

“I think it’s because he’s lonely. He must be used to spending his nights with you, correct?” 

“Uh.” 

“Kun!” _My hero,_ Kun thinks when Johnny appears at the doorway to the kitchen. “How many do you want in your stack?” 

“Oh, um, three? Three sounds reasonable.” 

“Three?” Johnny raises an eyebrow. “I’m having five.” 

“Make it six then.” 

Johnny throws him a wink as he disappears, and Kun tries not to look too constipated as he untwists his stomach. 

“We’re going to run out of pancake mix,” Abeonim says. 

“Oh, sh— shoot, I didn’t think, I’m so sorry—” 

“My loooooove!” He calls out loudly. “I’ll have a stack of seven, thank you!” 

“Seven?! Make your own pancakes!” comes the screech from the kitchen, followed by Johnny’s uncontrollable laughter, mirrored almost exactly by his father. 

Kun feels his shoulders fall back into their usual slouch, and even though Abeonim looks back at him, he doesn’t bother to adjust his posture. 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — LIVING ROOM — DAY**

Kun has had plenty of time to observe the presents that sit under the Christmas tree, but he never once considered that they were real. Not until he’s sitting cross legged by the fireplace, next to Johnny, who’s fiddling with that goddamn camera, while Eomeonim sorts through the gifts wrapped in dazzling gold and red wrapping paper and ribbons, along with Kun’s own presents for them in plain green tissue paper. Johnny must have put them there when Kun was busy. 

“We haven’t done this since Johnny was in elementary school,” Abeonim explains. “Honestly, we only did it back then because Johnny would see it happen in the movies and get jealous we didn’t do it too.” 

“Guilty.” Johnny grins. 

“It’s kind of nice, though,” Kun says. “Giving presents like this. My mom just gave me an apple and said Santa doesn’t deliver to China.” 

Abeonim laughs, and Kun is struck by how similar it is to Johnny’s. 

“Did you get any presents at all?” Eomeonim asks. 

“My parents took me shopping. There were always big sales.” 

“Well, you don’t have to bother with shopping today.” She flipped the tag back around on the present she was holding, by far the largest one under the tree. “This is yours. From Abeonim.” 

“We decided to split our gifts,” Abeonim smiled, “So you can get more.” 

Every instinct in Kun’s body is telling him to decline it; he’s only a guest, hardly here for four days, and who knows when Kun will even _see_ them again. 

But Johnny’s mother looks at him so expectantly. Kun gingerly accepts the box, noting, from the corner of his eyes, Johnny shuffling a few feet away to lie in a weird half curl-up, just to film him. (Kun is a little bitter in the knowledge that Johnny can keep that position for a while.) He unfurls the ribbon and methodically gets to work picking off the tape and deftly unfolding the wrapping paper. His cousins and family friends have always called him a freak for being so neat about gift wrap, but Kun has always been meticulous. 

Inside is a plain brown box, no decoration. Kun opens the lid, and the first thing that catches his eye is the garish red, white and blue Christmas sweater with the word ‘CHICAGO’ plastered across it. 

He _loves_ Christmas sweaters. 

“This is so cool!” he coos, holding the sweater up to his chest. It seems to fit him perfectly.

Abeonim is wearing the exact same smile he has been wearing all morning, so Kun can’t tell if he’s pleased or not. “I’m glad you like it. Johnny said you liked Christmas sweaters.” 

“I know you probably have plenty of souvenirs to take home with you, but one more can’t hurt, can it?” Eomeonim says. “You may not come back here for a long time.” 

Against his will, his lip twitches. She’s putting it lightly; Kun doesn’t think he’ll be coming back to America at all once he leaves. 

“Now do mine,” she says, passing him a much smaller present. This one is much more simply wrapped, tied by a ribbon at the top rather than cut and stuck together. Inside is a white cloth bag, slightly bigger than the size of his palm. Kun looks inside it. 

“A Midori?” he breathes, pulling out the leather notebook. The cover sports a neat engraving of the ISS, and Kun feels his heart fighting its way out of his chest. 

“Johnny said you’d like this one…” 

“I love it! I’ve always wanted a Midori.” Kun presses the notebook to his chest. “Thank you.” 

Eomeonim’s smile is dazzling. “You’re welcome!” 

“I’m not sure how I can top that,” Johnny laughs.

“Why don’t we judge that now?” Eomeonim reaches for a messy box that sticks out like a sore thumb amongst everything else. “Here it is.” 

Kun has no clue what Johnny has planned; all he knows is that it’s going to be over the top. He has an inkling; Johnny’s been way too happy over the past few weeks, and Kun can probably pin that down to just being excited about this holiday, but he’s also noticed Johnny get suspiciously giddy every time the subject of Christmas presents was brought up. 

Also, Kun knows Johnny. He’s known Johnny for years, and he has six years of sentimental Christmas, birthday, heck, even Christmas-in-July presents to show for it. 

Johnny clearly wrapped his gift by himself. It’s the Star Wars gift wrap that he bought in bulk once at the start of post-grad, paper thin and easy to tear, so Kun struggles to undo it so neatly. Not to mention Johnny’s practically destroyed the wrapping paper just from the careless way he stuck it together.

It hurts, but Kun finally peels away the wrapping to find a velvet purple box. The only thing keeping him breathing was that it was far too big to hold any kind of jewellery.

Inside is a framed picture of nothing but stars on a simple black background. And the bottom, in simple white letters, are coordinates and a date. The coordinates Kun will have to look up later, but the date… 

“That’s the night sky above campus on the day we first met,” Johnny says, confirming what he’s thinking. His voice is way too quiet and the air is way too thick, considering both his parents are also there, watching. 

“How do you even remember when we first met?” Kun laughs, willing the tension away. (Although Kun remembers the date. He has it marked on a Google calendar that no one else has access to.) 

“It was the AS— Asian club’s Thanksgiving party. Of course I remember it.” Kun wonders if Johnny’s told his parents that the ASS’s Thanksgiving parties were just another excuse to drink yourself sick at the campus bar, with the added twist of apple cider, cinnamon and pumpkin spice flavours. The closest to a turkey Kun got that night was the plush hat he was forced to wear after losing to Johnny at beer pong. 

Kun will tell people he’d rather forget the night for that reason, except he wouldn’t. Because that’s when he met Johnny, who would become his best friend. (And maybe some time last year, he drunk-called Ten and told him that Johnny was “the best thing this country has to offer”, and maybe Ten hasn’t let him forget it since.) 

Kun whispers, “Thank you.” It’s weak and frail because he’s thinking about his own present for Johnny, a vintage-looking camera that he didn’t really put any thought into, he just saw it at an old-man store in Shanghai and immediately knew Johnny would want it. He had intended to give it to Johnny as soon as he saw him, but then he got convinced to spend Christmas in Chicago, and decided it would do for a Christmas present. It was a good one, he’d thought at the time. Johnny will love it!

Now, he wishes he’d taken the time to think about it more. 

“Aw shoot,” Johnny curses, lowering his camera. “I’m out of film.” 

Eomeonim sighs. “Must we wait for you to reload it before we continue?” 

“I won’t be long!” Johnny’s already leaping between them, rushing for the stairs. “Just pause for a bit!” 

Abeonim shakes his head. “I regret giving him that camera.” 

“He must waste so much money on film.” 

“He does,” Kun confirms. And then he snaps his mouth shut, because he totally just ratted his best friend out to his parents. 

He watches, lips tight, as the couple stare at him, and then stare at each other. 

“This is your fault,” Abeonim finally says. 

“We’re _both_ at fault,” Eomeonim replies. 

Kun thinks that’s the shortest parental argument he’s ever seen. 

**CUT TO:**

Kun thinks the feast Johnny’s mother has made for dinner is enough to end the day. He could sleep now and he wouldn’t feel guilty about how he hasn’t done much on his dissertation. The turkey is easily the least bland he’s ever had; the stuffing was spicy enough to ensure bowel problems for the next 24 hours, but also just a tiny, tiny hint of sweet that made him want to keep eating. It was even better with cranberry sauce. But more than the turkey, Kun stuffed himself with the bulgogi, the japchae, the steamed rice cake topped with raisins and dried apricots that Johnny’s dad had told him the name of but he still can’t remember. All he remembers is that it was good. 

And now that he’s topped all of that off with dalgona sweets and a mug of steaming cinnamon hot chocolate, Kun can die happy. It doesn’t matter if he bombs his dissertation. It doesn’t matter if he never becomes an astronaut. At this present point in time, as far as he’s concerned, he’s experienced everything life has to offer. 

(Thoughts of him never becoming an astronaut creep into the edges of his mind, slowly taking over. One small corner imagines a near future where he’s looking at a letter from the CNSA, and it starts with ‘We regret to inform you’. Kun refocuses his mind to the hot chocolate still sitting on his tongue.) 

Johnny’s voice derails his train of thought, as it often does. “Wanna go for a drive?” 

Kun doesn’t bother opening his eyes or moving an inch of his body, draped over the Suhs’ couch. “Why?” 

“See the Christmas lights.” 

“Are your parents going?” 

“Nah, just us.” 

“Hm. I already saw the lights when we went to Mass.” 

“Come on.” He feels a finger prod his cheek. “The lake looks really nice at night.” 

Kun groans, but quietly so the parents won’t hear him. They’ve already insinuated enough about his and Johnny’s relationship through the day, and Kun doesn’t know how to correct them, especially since Johnny doesn’t even pretend to be shocked. “Okay. I’ll go on this drive with you.” 

It’s easier to keep his eyes closed and imagine Johnny’s glowing face instead. 

**INT. JOHNNY’S DAD’S HONDA CIVIC — DAY**

It’s not the first time Kun’s seen Christmas lights. The reindeers on the roofs and Santas coming out of chimneys are cute. A luxury to those living in American suburbia, maybe, but nothing of note to him, considering he grew up around lights in Shanghai, and considering he’ll return to the lights for good in less than half a year. 

It’s not the first time Kun’s been alone in a car with Johnny, either. Not by a stretch; Johnny’s practically Kun’s Uber driver on campus. Kun always feels bad, always promises himself he’ll call a rideshare whenever he’s out, but Johnny is somehow always there when he doesn’t have a ride, armed with carbs and conversation. Johnny’s car in Austin is old and dingy and smells like weed, and full of memories of trips to drive-thrus and the cinema to watch black and white movies, and fits of uncontrollable laughter. Kun remembers snorting a milkshake out of his nose once, right onto Johnny’s glove box. 

This is different. Not because Johnny’s dad’s car is clean and smells like car freshener, but because Johnny is quiet. And because Johnny is quiet, Kun feels uneasy. 

Johnny’s voice is soft when he speaks up. “The present wasn’t too much, was it?” 

Kun blinks. “No! Not at all. I love it, it’s really thoughtful.” 

Johnny raps his fingers against the gear stick. Kun’s been trying to ignore how Johnny’s hand has been resting there, so close in proximity. “It was going to be your grad present, actually.” 

“It would make for a good grad present.” 

“Yeah. But I got a better idea for your grad present instead.” 

“Are you gonna tell me?” 

“No, silly. You’ll have to wait till you graduate.” 

Kun feels something ugly swirl in his stomach. “Whatever it is, you might not get to see me open it. My flight home will have to be the day after the ceremony, and I’ll be with family—” 

“It’s okay. I’m at peace with that. As long as you tell me what you think later.” Johnny’s face is easy, and Kun is inclined to think he’s being genuine. 

“Of course I will.” 

“It’s not like we’re going to stop talking once you go home, right? We’ll keep in touch.” 

“Yeah, duh. You think we won’t?” 

“No, I don’t think that. I expected we would.” 

Kun stares at Johnny’s fingers still fidgeting on the gearstick, and clasps his own together on his lap. “I’m probably going to be really busy, but you’re my best friend. I’m not going to ghost you.” 

Johnny laughs. “Don’t worry. I’m well aware you’re going to go silent for days at a time. You’re a bad texter.” 

“Plus, astronaut training is going to be intense.” 

Johnny’s grin freezes on his face. Kun counts four seconds before Johnny says, “Right. Of course it will be.” 

And Johnny is quiet again. 

Kun searches for something to talk about. He doesn’t want to listen to LANY on the BlueTooth asking him to let him know if there’s something he could do to fix it. He doesn’t like the tightness of Johnny’s knuckles on the steering wheel. 

“Has Alexa messaged you about your thesis film?” 

Johnny quirks a smile. His hands relax a little. “No, she took the day off, too. Pretty sure she’ll text the production group chat at 12:05am with something to look over, so I’ll be vigilant.” 

“Sounds like something you’d do.” 

“It’s a director thing.” 

Kun watches Johnny’s face closely. It’s not quite a smile but not exactly _not_ a smile. “It sucks that your pitch didn’t get chosen by any of the producers. Especially after…” Especially after Johnny’s had a film dropped before, by an actual studio, but bringing that up might just rub salt in the wound. 

Johnny purses his lips. “Yeah, it does suck.” 

He says it like it’s final, and Kun doesn’t have anything to say either, so it’s silent again for a while. But Johnny, it turns out, isn’t done. 

“I don’t know, I don’t want to be a DP. The reason I came back to college is so that I wouldn’t be pigeonholed into DP work.” Kun knows all of this already, but he lets him talk. “But any experience is good experience, right? My work experience is still a foot in the door, even if it’s not exactly what I want to do. This thesis film is still a thesis film. It’s another item on the list.” 

Something about this conversation makes Kun wary. “I guess that makes sense.” 

“It’s kind of like how your dissertation is your supervisor’s topic more than something you actually want to do.” 

“I mean, it’s actually a really good area to specialise in if I want to get hired by space agencies, but—”

“But that’s what I mean. It gets your foot in the door.” 

“…I suppose so, yes.” 

Johnny’s brow tenses and relaxes just slightly; Kun wouldn’t have even noticed if he wasn’t trying so hard to read him. “I used to have such a clear idea of how my future was gonna go. I get my degree and then I make the movie of my dreams. I didn’t even need it to be a huge movie that makes a lot of money, or wins any awards, I just wanted to make it.” Johnny grins wryly. “I thought not aiming for the moon was being realistic.” 

Kun laughs, but it’s dry. His throat feels dry. 

“Life likes to remind you to lower your expectations. I’ve been thinking that a lot lately.” There’s an ugly churning in Kun’s stomach as Johnny continues to speak. “I don’t actually think it’s a bad thing. If things don’t turn out the way you planned. If you have to resort to a Plan B or C, ‘cause Plan A is taking too long.” 

Kun doesn’t want to say anything. He’d have nothing to say even if he wanted to. He just stares very pointedly at the way the headlights light up the road in front of them, observes exactly where it stops, and where the streetlights start to illuminate the road instead. 

It’s only when the grain of the road comes into focus that he realises they’ve stopped at a red light. He takes in his surroundings and notices Johnny looking at him in his peripherals. It’s the blurry part of his vision, and he can’t see his expression. 

“Just something I’ve been thinking about,” Johnny adds, light. Like it’s nothing.

Kun forces his own vocal chords to mirror Johnny’s tone. “Makes sense. Can I change the playlist? Your whiny indie bands are getting boring.” 

Johnny laughs light he hasn’t just cooked up a storm in Kun’s head. “Just don’t play One Direction and we’re solid.” 

Kun types ‘One Direction’ into Johnny’s Spotify search bar. “No promises.”


	2. ACT II: STAGING

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Explicit sex scene, heavy drinking, a tiny reference to illicit drugs.

**ACT II: STAGING**

**EXT. TARGET PARKING LOT — DAY**

“This is it,” Johnny muses, loud enough for everyone around him to hear. “This is Chicago’s pièce de résistance. Our Notre Dame. Our Taj Mahal. Our Hagia Sofia. Our Opera House. Our—” 

Eomeonim slams the boot door of her car shut. “Will you keep going until you run out of landmarks, or do I have to stop you?” 

Kun stares up at the building Johnny is pointing his camera at. It looks just like every other department store he’s been to, except for the ’T’ on the neon sign flickering, like it was a T-T-T-T-T-Target instead of a mere Target. He half expects Johnny to explain that the flickering is intentional and has special meaning, and that this is, in fact, a museum of American culture; he half knows it isn’t coming because of the reusable bags Johnny’s mother is carrying. 

He spent all of the previous day seeing actual sights of the city: Navy Pier, Hancock Tower, the Bean, the lake. He doesn’t know why Johnny expects him to find this impressive. 

“I’ve been to Target before,” Kun tells Johnny. 

“I know you have.” Johnny walks a few feet behind Kun, filming Kun and his mother as they walk across the tarmac. “But you haven’t been to _this_ Target.” 

Johnny’s mother carries on as if her son isn’t making a fool of himself in an open public space. Although from the stories Johnny’s told him, the apple doesn’t fall too far from the tree. 

**CUT TO:**

**INT. TARGET — DAY**

“Alright, I’ll let you boys get what you need for tomorrow,” Eomeonim says as they walk through the automatic doors. “Text me if you need me. I should be in the craft section.” 

Kun bids her goodbye as Johnny grabs a trolley, pulls it out and leaves it for Kun to take over. He moves just in front of Kun and walks backwards, still filming him. 

“What are the essentials?” Johnny asks. 

“Firewood,” Kun replies, before his phone is fished out of his pocket. When he checks it, he adds, “Snacks. Toilet paper. A portable stove… won’t your parents have one?” 

“Dad said it’s too old to use, remember?” 

“Oh yeah, he did. Do we need one? What are we going to use it for?” 

Johnny puckers his lips. “Breakfast. I want a proper breakfast before I drive three hours.” 

“Okay, it is essential. Let’s start at the camping aisle.” 

“Turn right in 50 yards. Your destination will be on the left.” 

“You’re really not putting that camera away?” 

“Nope.” 

Kun slows his pace so he won’t accidentally bump into Johnny. It’s annoying, because they have a job to do, and he doesn’t want to make his mother wait around for them while they’re fooling around, but Kun doesn’t trust that Johnny won’t fall backwards and give himself a concussion. Johnny absolutely cannot afford a concussion right now, because he’s the only one out of the two of them with a valid American driver’s license, and the cottage they’ve booked has a hefty cancellation fee. 

Johnny doesn’t put the camera away to help Kun pick up a 50-pound bag of firewood, either. But at the very least, Johnny isn’t directing him to look a certain way, or telling him off when he looks at the camera, so Kun lets him have this. 

“Should we go cheap on the stove?” Kun asks. “I feel like we shouldn’t skimp on the stove. It might explode.” 

“I’m pretty sure it’s illegal to make it that bad, but yeah. Buy the more expensive one.” 

“Electric or gas?” 

“My parents wouldn’t be caught dead with an electric stove.” 

“Good thing it’s cheap.” Kun stares up at the very small selection of electric stoves. “They’re not as sexy as the ones the YouTubers use.” 

Johnny guffaws. “Sorry, I would’ve taken us to Muji, but there isn’t one in Chicago.” 

“It’s been months since I stepped inside a Muji. Why couldn’t you take me to a city where they have a store? That’s literally all I need for a vacation.” 

Johnny lowers his camera a tad. “But you like Chicago, don’t you?” 

It sounds like a casual question, but Kun knows the difference between a Johnny that’s teasing and a Johnny that’s trying to be teasing. “I love it here. I can see why you won’t shut up about it.” 

The camera is covering Johnny’s face before Kun can see him smile. “Just wait. You haven’t seen everything yet.” 

**INT. JOHNNY’S MOM’S VOLVO — DAY**

Kun doesn’t know what the sky should look like when it’s about to snow. Johnny keeps assuring him that it won’t, that snow isn’t in the forecast, but after the heavy falls overnight, he can’t help but watch the clouds ahead of them, leg bouncing in his seat, waiting for the worst to happen. He’s already munched on three-quarters of a pack of animal crackers; Johnny’s banned him from eating anything else, so he has nothing to do with his hands, either. 

He should’ve brought a Rubik’s cube. 

“What if we have to stop in the middle of the road and wait the snow out?” 

“It’s not going to snow, Kun,” Johnny sighs, although he has both hands on the wheel. Kun doesn’t find that very reassuring. 

“But what if it does? And it gets so bad we have to stop in the middle of nowhere?” 

Johnny reaches over, places his hand over where Kun is twiddling his thumbs and pries them apart. His touch lingers long enough that Kun notices it’s lingering before drawing back to the steering wheel. “We’ll figure it out if it happens. But I’m 98% sure it won’t.” 

“That’s—” 

“—Two percent off. Yes, Mr Engineer, I’m aware.” 

Kun’s heart thumps in his chest. Part of it might be the memory of Johnny’s huge hand wrapped around his own, but it feels too aggressive to be just that. 

“What do you suggest we do, then? Turn around and go back?” 

“We can’t do that!” Kun says quickly. “We’ve been planning this trip for three months.” 

“And we promised we’d go on a road trip together.”

This is the last opportunity they have to do it, Johnny didn’t say. Kun could hear it, anyway. 

The sound of the indicator pulls Kun’s attention to the dashboard. Johnny’s turning left, apparently, but he doesn’t see a left turn anywhere near them. “What—?”

“I’m pulling over so you can grab your laptop.” Johnny shoots him a breathtaking smile before doing a head check and pulling into the emergency lane. “We still have half an hour left. Work on your dissertation, okay?” 

The thumping in Kun’s chest slows from violent and angry to just persistent, like a wave. When he looked ahead, the clouds didn’t feel as close as they used to. 

Kun gives Johnny his best smile back. “Okay.” 

**EXT. ICE DUNES — DAY**

The ski gear that Johnny’s dad has lent him is far too tight, which Kun should’ve expected, considering how much smaller the man is to him. He isn’t sure where that’ll get him since his experience with skiing is so minimal, but Johnny is right behind him, and has caught him the few times he almost fell backward, so Kun keeps walking. Sometimes he thinks he should just trip on purpose just to feel Johnny’s hands on his waist again, but he’d rather not die. 

“You okay?” Johnny asks, and Kun realises he’s stopped walking. 

“Fine,” Kun replies, sticking one of his ski poles into the ground in front of him. “Your dad’s a lot smaller than I thought.” 

Johnny chuckles; Kun can barely hear it through his beanie and the hood of his down jacket. “We offered to buy you new gear.” 

“Please, you know there’s no point. I’m never going to go skiing again.” 

“Surely there are places you can ski in China.” 

“There are. I’m never going to go skiing again.” Not when it takes ten times as long to walk up an ice dune than to ski down one, Kun thinks. Sure, ski resorts have ski lifts, but he doesn’t understand how any of this is worth it. 

“Just wait till you get to the top of this one.” Johnny points at the top of the dune with his pole. “See? We’re almost there.” 

Kun groans, leaving Johnny with his head thrown back in laughter. 

He’s right, though; there isn’t much left to go. It’s a minute before Kun can see over the top of the dune, out onto the waves literally frozen in time over the shore, expanding into shelf ice and melting out into the wide expanse of Lake Michigan beyond it. 

And it’s cliche, but Kun lets out a breathless “whoa”. 

“Beautiful, right?” Johnny’s on his right but still behind him, so his head only reaches Kun’s ear. “This is the place that inspired my failed pitch.” 

Kun winces when Johnny says “failed”. He tells himself it’s on Johnny’s behalf. “I can see it. It looks so…” 

“Intimidating,” Johnny finishes for Kun. “Lonely.” 

“Yeah.” 

“The desert in Texas doesn’t quite compare, does it?” 

“There’s too much green down there. It’s not as empty.” 

“No.” Johnny moves his right leg so his ski digs into the snow. “Maybe I’ll actually make the damn thing when I want to. No assessment guidelines to tell me where I can and can’t film.” 

“You’d still have a budget.” 

“Don’t kill my vibe.” 

A giggle bubbles up Kun’s throat. “Don’t kill my vibe? Who are you, Doyoung?” 

“Oh my god, did I say that unironically? I said that unironically, didn’t I?” 

Kun guffaws. He digs his ski poles out from the ground and trudges forward, leaving Johnny behind, open-mouthed, staring at the snow.

“I’m going down!” Kun calls, even though he definitely wasn’t going down. 

Johnny jumps and nearly loses his footing. “Whoa, wait! You can’t do it alone, you’ll fall!” 

Kun deigns to mention that Johnny almost fell himself, and lets him catch up, if only to feel his gloved hand on his back again. 

**INT. DINER — DAY**

Kun picks a sizable bunch of French fries and dips them, all at once, in the ketchup before stuffing them in his mouth. Through his lashes, he notes — not for the first time — Johnny’s camera pointed at his face, and he scowls as much as he can with a mouth full of half-chewed food. 

“Can’t you eat first?” Kun asks after swallowing. “Why are you filming me now?” 

Johnny’s lips spread into a smirk. “‘Cause I wanna film you eating.” 

“Why? I don’t look good when I’m eating.” 

“You look good all the time.” 

Kun reaches for his pint of cola and takes a long sip, now painfully aware that Johnny is watching him through the lens. He smacks his lips when he’s done and keeps his eyes on the table between them. “You’ve been bold lately.” 

Johnny’s quiet long enough for Kun to peek through his lashes again. His lips were just a ghost of a smirk now. “I can stop.” 

Kun stares at the table again, takes the time to breathe along with another sip of his drink. He should tell Johnny to stop. That would be the logical response. 

“You don’t have to.” 

He looks up again just in time to see Johnny’s cheeks meet his eye and then lower again as he schools his expression. Kun stuffs his face with fries before he can say anything unnecessary, or before Johnny can ask him a question that he shouldn’t answer. He nudges the plate towards the elder, who takes just one and gracefully plucks it into his mouth. 

“Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome.” 

**INT. JOHNNY’S MOM’S VOLVO — DAY**

If Kun had to compare the tension in the car to anything, it would be the Beijing smog that one time he had to travel there for a school trip when he was 10. Kun’s family still lived in rural Fujian back then, and he was a stranger to that kind of pollution. The N95 mask was stuffy and hot, and Kun and his friends were too focused on trying to breathe to listen to all the lectures about their national history. 

It wasn’t like he had nothing to do. He had his eyes on both the GPS and the road map he’d highlighted with their accomodation, and he had the coffee in his hands that they’d stopped at Saugatuck for while they were scoping out potential dinner options for later that night. Johnny himself still had both hands on the wheel, squinting at the postbox numbers of the houses they kept driving past. He really should wear his glasses. Kun would ask him to if it wasn’t so… domestic. 

“Is it a left here?” 

“No, the next one. The GPS is right, Johnny.” 

“The GPS says the next left, though.” 

“Oh my god,” Kun mutters under his breath. He doesn’t give Johnny any more than that, just waits until he can read the words on the street sign. “Here.” 

The vast silver lake that they only saw hints of so far finally stretches before them. It’s vast and endless and sparkles under the sun, which has finally decided to show. It isn’t frozen like it was at the national park, but the water sure isn’t welcoming. 

“It’s funny,” Johnny says. “This is a summer vacation spot, but we only ever came here in the winter. I think it’s cheaper.” 

Kun can’t imagine the Suhs being thrifty. “Your family travelled a lot, didn’t they?” 

“Yeah, road trips every summer. I’m pretty lucky that way. I’ve always wanted to travel the world, though.” 

“Maybe you’ll get to travel for a film one day.” 

“That’s work, though. It’s not the same.”

“Oh, this is it!” Kun points a finger at the sign that says ‘Smallville Holiday Homes’ and the mini-cottages behind it he’s seen so many times in pictures. “This is the place!” 

“Oh, that was easy!” Johnny turns into the driveway, following Kun’s instructions to get to reception. “Man, I cannot _wait_ for that hot tub.” 

It’s not that Kun forgot about the hot tub. It’s just that his mind chose to ignore it under the haze of hormones he’s been experiencing over the past two hours — and probably for his own good. 

“Looking forward to the fireplace, too,” Kun adds weakly. 

**INT. THE COTTAGE — DAY**

The place looks pretty much exactly like the photos, which is a relief. Johnny — and Doyoung, and Ten, and Sicheng, and all his cousins back home — have often told him he gives way too much weight to the worst case scenario on things that really don’t matter, but he doesn’t care. His minor bouts of anxiety ground him. 

Kun dumps the bag of firewood he’s carrying to the fireplace where Johnny is standing, flipping through the guest information booklet. “Is this everything?”

“Hm?” Johnny glances up at Kun before doing a quick scan of the room. “Boot’s empty, right?” 

“Yep.” 

“Then yeah. Ooh, they have a library in the rec room.” 

“We didn’t come here to read.” 

“I can read in an hour! Or I used to be able to. When I was thirteen.” 

“I never read fiction books, so I can’t relate.” 

“I still can’t believe you haven’t read Harry Potter.” 

This is not a conversation Kun is willing to entertain. “Author’s a TERF.” 

“I read them before I knew anything! C’mon!” 

Kun navigates around the two single beds pushed together to form one bed on his way to inspect the tea and coffee selection next to the kettle. “We’ll have to push the beds apart.” 

“Yeah, info says we have to ask reception for linens. I’ll head over later.” 

“We’ll have to ask them for coffee, too. I think room service forgot our refill.” 

“Shit, then I have to go now.” 

Kun declines to mention that Johnny had _just_ had a coffee, because he already knows. He pushes the door open to what should be a bathroom and peeks in. The hot tub is the first thing he sees, small and cramped and stuffed into a corner. The image he had concocted of the two of them in the tub — in trunks, of course — drinking soju straight from the bottle and watching Brooklyn 99 on Kun’s laptop slowly evaporated from existence, like Luke Skywalker dying in the sunset. Actually, exactly like Luke Skywalker dying in the sunset. 

“Oh shit.” 

“What?” 

“Hot tub doesn’t quite meet expectations.” 

Johnny’s peeking over his shoulder within seconds. “Oh. That’s a different hot tub to the pictures.” 

“Yes.”

“This is a one-person hot tub.” 

“It is.” 

“It’ll be a tight fit for both of us.” 

A new, more unwelcome image springs forth — that of himself in Johnny’s arms, his hands on Johnny’s thighs, and maybe one of Johnny’s hands down his trunks. 

“Hold on.” Johnny disappears. Kun stays frozen in his spot lest Johnny can read his mind. Johnny a minute later with the bedside table in his hands, placing it in front of the tub. He retrieves Kun’s laptop from where it was sitting on top of his luggage, puts it on the table and flips it open. He gets in the tub, sitting on one end and then the other. “Can you move the table back a bit?” 

Kun catches on. “You’re so pedantic,” he says, instead of “you’re so smart” like he’s thinking. He pulls the table back an inch, making sure his laptop doesn’t topple over. 

“It’s a director thing. Can you lower the screen a little? Wait, no, put it back up. Yes, perfect.” 

Johnny makes his final compliment while staring directly at Kun, and if it wasn’t for the day’s events, he might’ve dismissed it. Kun scratches the back of his neck. “Start the tub. I’ll get changed.” 

“Get me mine as well, please? I’ve packed it right on top. Oh, and can you get coffee from reception?” 

**CUT TO:**

**INT. THE COTTAGE — BATHROOM — DAY**

The tub is three-quarters full by the time him and Johnny are both ready, so Kun takes the extra time to arrange bottles of peach soju carefully on the floor, so they wouldn’t fall but were still within arms’ reach, and pull up the Rosa bi episode. When he finally gets in the tub, Johnny’s legs take up pretty much all the room, and there’s no way to avoid their knees knocking or their shins brushing up against each other. 

Johnny doesn’t move his legs away. Eventually, Kun stops trying, too. 

There’s two different ways to watch things with Johnny. One is where Johnny takes the reins and chooses the kind of movie that only he would really think to watch, and they’re _weird_ — black and white, or plotless, or shot entirely on polaroid film or an iPhone or something. Sometimes Kun will see it mentioned again in an Oscars ceremony, sometimes he’ll bring it up to his cousins and all of them except Dejun would just laugh and say the movie doesn’t exist. During these sessions, Johnny serves as Kun’s media professor, basically explaining why this shot is filmed this way, or why that thing is in the background, or why nothing actually happened in the entire movie. Kun doesn’t always end up liking what he watched, but this is where Johnny shines, talking about something he loves, unbridled, unashamed. 

The other way is when they’re watching something they both love. Kun used to feel bad because he thought he was making Johnny settle for him, but it turns out Johnny really does love Pixar movies like any normal human being. This is when they sit in silence, enjoying the show, enjoying each other’s presence, and maybe in the past Kun has rested his head against Johnny’s shoulder and dozed off, and maybe those times he woke up to the smell of hot coffee and found he was neatly tucked into bed. 

Kun doesn’t know which he prefers. Right now, he knows he’s miffed that he can’t concentrate on Rosa officially coming out to the precinct because Johnny’s toe is rubbing circles into his calf. 

After two episodes, the water’s lukewarm and Kun has downed half of his second bottle of soju. Johnny’s only had one, but there’s already a pretty flush on his cheeks. 

“I’m starting to prune,” Kun tells him. 

Johnny wipes his hands on the towel behind his head and reaches for his phone. “We should get going now, anyway. Look around.” 

Kun doesn’t quite feel like going out into the cold after sitting in a long bath. “Can we watch a few more episodes first?” 

Johnny laughs. “Maybe.” He swipes at his phone. “Mom texted twenty minutes ago. She wants photos.” 

“She’ll like my photos better than yours.” Kun rises out of the water and winces as his skin adjusts to the steamy air. 

“I can send her one of us now!” 

“No!” Kun nearly trips getting out of the tub, and Johnny laughs horribly instead of making any effort to help him. “Oh my god.” 

“I’m kidding!” 

“I’m pretty sure she already thinks we’re dating.”

It takes a lot to actually get Kun drunk, but not a lot to get his mouth running. He knows this, he’s suffered from this, and yet it surprises him every time. He reaches for a clean towel and pats himself down quickly before vigorously rubbing his hair dry, facing the door, definitely not looking where he came from. 

Johnny stays in the tub. “I think that might be true.” 

Kun presses the towel to his face for much longer than he needs to. “Why don’t you correct them?” 

Water splashes and falls and Kun closes his eyes and buries his face back in the towel. He takes a peek over his shoulder to see Johnny making his way over, a towel around his shoulders but otherwise still wet. “Why should I?” 

“Because we’re not dating.” 

“Why is that?” 

The first thing Kun notices when he turns around is the drop of water about to fall off the edge of Johnny’s jaw. “Because I’m going back to China in May.” 

“So?” Johnny takes a step closer, and Kun feels his back press into the door. “Won’t you wonder what it could’ve been like?” 

“Of course I’m going to wonder what it’s like. I already had to, once.” 

“You don’t still have to.” 

Kun has so many answers for him, he doesn’t know which one to pick. Johnny swallows under his gaze, pulling the towel tighter around his body. 

“I know that if we tried something between us, it won’t be forever.” Johnny speaks slowly, like he’s hearing his own words for the first time. “But I already had to watch you leave once. And this time, you definitely won’t be coming back.” 

“I won’t,” Kun agrees. 

“So why are we wasting time being just friends?” 

Kun doesn’t have any more answers. He brushes that one drop of water that’s been threatening to fall the entire time because he’s been annoying him, and then he places his hands around Johnny’s neck and kisses him. 

Johnny’s Adam’s apple bobs under Kun’s thumb. His pulse thrums, fast but steady, as he presses into Kun further, thigh between Kun’s legs, almost lifting him off his feet. It’s embarrassing how desperate Kun is, how desperate they both are. Johnny’s hands claw at the skin of his waist, down his back, and they don’t stop for a breath even if they have to. Kun can feel water dripping down onto the side of his head and it’s ice cold now in the open air, but he can’t even seem to mind. 

Johnny pulls away eventually and Kun feels his lips part and his breath hitch, like he’s trying to say something, so he presses his teeth against the underside of Johnny’s jaw and bites. The hands around his waist tighten; Kun licks and kisses at the mark he left, and then lower and lower, leaving a trail down Johnny’s neck. 

“Kun…” The rest of Johnny’s sentence dissolves into a barely audible groan when Kun sucks on his clavicle bone. "Shit.” 

Kun feels Johnny’s thigh flex against his crotch, lifting him to the balls of his feet, and he needs to splay his hand against Johnny’s sternum for support. He sees Johnny’s lips move again and dips to the back of his ear, sucking at that spot Johnny had once, off the cuff, told him he liked so much. Johnny’s breath heats up his neck and the water on his face simultaneously cools it, and the push and pull energises him, makes him feel bolder. He lets his hands trail down the middle of Johnny’s chest, past his stomach, to the waistband of his trunks. 

“Kun,” Johnny calls again, warning. 

Kun presses his lips to Johnny’s ear. “May I?” 

Johnny’s stomach tucks in and out slowly. “Yeah. God, yeah.” 

Johnny’s already half hard, and it only takes a few firm, rough, quick tugs to have Johnny whining into his mouth, one arm leaning heavily on the door next to Kun’s ear, the other pulling Kun impossibly closer. Every once in a while, Johnny will try to pull his head away, but Kun will pull him back, or he’ll kiss him somewhere else, before he can meet his eyes. 

He should take his time. He should be more gentle, more loving. He knows that’s what Johnny deserves. It’s what he’s always imagined for them. But his head is a dangerous cocktail of hormones and Kun doesn’t want to savour anything, he just wants to make Johnny fucking cum already. 

The water on Johnny’s body is starting to cause more friction than it should, so Kun pulls Johnny’s trunks down in a dash as he kneels, causing Johnny to gasp as the cold air hits him proper. His cock, blissfully, is as big as Kun’s face. 

With a tentative press of lips against the tip, Kun finally feels brave enough to look up into Johnny’s eyes. His best friend watches him, brow tense, mouth ajar, breathing big enough that his entire body moves with him and Kun has to chase after his dick. Johnny’s lips are pink and swollen and Kun watches them as he parts his own, taking him inch by inch. 

Then Johnny’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth, and Kun stops wasting time. 

Right as Kun feels his jaw starting to ache and his knees starting to bruise against the tile floor, and his dick straining uncomfortably against his trunks, he feels Johnny’s huge hand run over his forehead, his scalp, and pull the hair at the back of his head. Johnny’s hips have been bucking into his mouth and Kun didn’t even realise, too focused on the precum lingering on his tongue, his own crotch crying to be touched. He doesn’t know any of Johnny’s tells or ticks, but he knows Johnny’s close. 

So Kun rests his head against the wood of the door and lets Johnny work at a furious pace, allows his hands to scrape down Johnny’s thigh and into his own trunks and pumps himself to the time of Johnny’s hips. It’s not long before Johnny is trying to pull away again. 

“I’m gonna—”

Kun grabs the back of Johnny’s thigh with his free hand, holds him in place and lets Johnny grind into his mouth until he can feel Johnny’s cum hit the back of his throat, hot and so far back his tongue he can’t even taste it. Johnny is the one who has to finally pull away because Kun won’t stop swallowing. 

“Hey, that’s enough—” Johnny holds Kun’s jaw as he pulls out of his mouth. “That’s enough.” 

Kun keeps his eyes closed, his mouth open until Johnny has to close it shut. He still hasn’t cum yet; he’s working on the memory of Johnny’s dick in his mouth alone, the imagined picture of Johnny losing his mind that Kun really, _really_ wishes he’d taken the time to see— 

Johnny’s hand joins his, both cold and hot, and with a few more pumps, Kun is spilling cum onto the floor. His knees collapse under him, and he rests his hand on Johnny’s shoulder while he catches his breath. 

And Johnny stays quiet, kneeling next to Kun on the floor. He lets Kun catch his breath, rubs circles into Kun’s back, presses small kisses against Kun’s temple. 

Johnny waits till Kun’s breathing evens out to ask, “Are you okay?” 

Kun’s head is still swimming, so he noses forward to kiss him again, but Johnny holds back. “Kun.” 

“I’m fine,” Kun huffs. It’s too quick. One of Johnny’s brows quirks upwards. “You should send your mom that selfie of us from the dunes earlier.” 

Johnny blinks, before letting out a startled laugh. “You’re thinking about that _now_?” 

“She’s probably waiting.” 

Johnny watches him, alert but firm like an owl; Kun nearly baulks under his gaze. “Do you want to get something to eat? Outside?” 

Kun chases Johnny’s lips, and this time Johnny meets him. It’s soft and tentative, and Kun’s head is too foggy to kiss with any real purpose. “Sure.” 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — JOHNNY’S BEDROOM — DAY**

The door swings open right as Kun has adjusted the monitor so it’s snug in his arms. “Any help?” 

“Abeonim!” Kun puts on his best adult-pleasing smile. “Where should I keep this?” 

“I told you,” Johnny groans from the floor, “Don’t bother. I’ll do it later.” 

“It’s fine, both of you. I’ll keep it away myself.” 

“Dad—” 

“Do either of you need your suitcases downstairs?” 

“I can carry mine,” Kun says, and quickly adds, “No, I insist!” before Abeonim can argue with him. “Thank you for offering, though.” 

“Johnny?” 

“Me too, dad.” 

“Are you sure? I can carry all your cameras.” 

“…Fine. Thanks, dad.” 

“No problem!” 

“Should I keep this in the basement?” Kun asks again, monitor still in his hands. He hears Johnny scoff. 

Johnny’s dad looks at him, tired but without bite. “You can keep it outside the door of the basement.” 

When he’s gone, and Kun feels all smug and accomplished, he hears Johnny say, “Suck-up.” 

“You keep calling me that as if you wouldn’t do the same.” 

“Probably.” Johnny rises from his bed just as Kun starts to make his way out, blocking the way to the door. Kun leans up to press their lips together, to push Johnny’s apart with his own, to feel Johnny’s breath hot on the roof of his mouth— 

There’s footsteps coming up the stairs, and they jump apart before Johnny’s mother calls, “Johnny! I need your help!” 

“Coming!” Johnny wipes his mouth dry and Kun hides his face behind the monitor so Eomeonim can’t see it when she meets him at the doorway. 

“Oh, put that back!”

“It’s okay, Eomeonim, I got it,” he says quickly, stepping around her and walking as fast as he possibly can’t without dropping the screen. As he goes down the stairs, he hears Johnny’s mother ask “Were you busy?” and Johnny reply with an all-too-quick, all-too-forceful “No!” 

**INT. THE SUH HOUSE — LIVING ROOM — DAY**

Kun grips the pull handle of his suitcase as he stares around the Suh living room again. The Christmas tree is gone, moved earlier that day to the backyard, and the Christmas decorations along with it. The only thing left behind are Christmas cards, many that weren’t around the day he came. The outside snow, though, still makes it feel like Christmas isn’t over. 

Johnny walks up to him, placing his luggage down with a thud. He leans down to pick the three cameras waiting near Kun’s feet and throws them over his shoulder. “That’s me.” 

“Your father’s in the car.” Eomeonim comes sweeping in after him, eyes scanning over their belongings. Once she’s satisfied, she looks at Kun and opens her arms wide. “Come here.” 

Kun steps forward and lets Johnny’s mother hug him tight. “Are you sure you don’t want to come with us to the airport?” 

“You don’t want to let go of me, do you?” she jokes. “Don’t worry, Kun. I’ll see you at graduation!” 

“I know, I know.” She holds him in place when he pulls away, so Kun rests his hands on her forearms so they don’t hang uselessly by his sides. “It’s just that I don’t know if I’ll ever get to come back to Chicago and see you in your element.” 

The blink and glance in Johnny’s direction doesn’t go unnoticed. “We’ll see what happens.” 

Kun hangs around while Johnny says goodbye and his mother tells him to stay healthy, eat well, good luck on his thesis film and she loves him. Johnny’s father appears at the front door, hands on his hips. After more well-wishing, Johnny finally notices he’s there. 

“We better get going,” Johnny sighs. Johnny’s dad offers him an apologetic smile. 

“Back to reality,” Kun says. 

Eomeonim kisses him on the forehead right before they head out the door. “Good luck on your dissertation, Kun. I’m sure the CNSA will love it.” 

Back to reality indeed. 

**INT. ENGINEERING BUILDING — GRAD LAB — DAY**

Kun’s hair is still wet from his shower when he walks into the aerospace computer labs. His fingers tingle at the thought of every single program he will ever need to complete this dissertation being readily available to him after a week of not having that kind of access. And two days out from New Year’s Eve, he expects to have the lab all to himself, but… 

“What are you doing here?” 

DAYA sits in her favourite back corner, which is usually Kun’s favourite back corner when she isn’t around. He only recognises her because she’s wearing the exact same grey hoodie she has been for the entire month of December. 

“What are _you_ doing here?” he asks. 

“Trying to make helicopters fly better, like I always am. I thought you were gone till tomorrow?”

“No, I landed an hour ago.” 

Anyone else in their research cohort might’ve raised an eyebrow, but Daya nods. “Had fun?” 

Kun sets his books down the opposite back corner, his bag on the floor. “Yep.” 

“You got laid, didn’t you?” 

The water bottle he tries to place on his table somehow completely misses the surface and clatters horribly onto his keyboard. “How did you know?” 

She smirks. “I didn’t. But thank you for confirming. Tom owes me fifty dollars.” 

“Or as he would say, ‘fifty quid’.” 

“Mm.” Kun isn’t offended by her dispassionate reaction. Daya never laughs at men. “So how are you and Noah Centineo gonna manage being long distance after grad?” 

“Who’s Noah Centineo?” 

“You know. The tall one you’re in love with. The film boy.” 

Kun doesn’t recall ever sharing his love life with Daya or any of the other Masters students, but he can’t account for what he may or may not have done or said during Friday night drinks. Maybe they didn’t even need a drunken confession from him; Johnny hovers around him enough for people to connect the dots. “Why do you ask?” 

“Another bet.” 

“Then I don’t know the answer,” Kun replies, as if he does actually know the answer. 

Kun has no way of knowing if Daya believes him or not. They’re friends but not exactly _friends_ the way he was with the people he’d met at ASS, and Kun would prefer to keep it that way. When she shrugs and shifts her attention back on her laptop, Kun takes it as her dropping the issue. 

His brain has questions. He ignores them in favour of more important matters. 

**INT. STARBUCKS — NIGHT**

At this time of the night, Starbucks smells more like cleaning chemicals than coffee. Granted, it is after close, so it doesn’t have to smell inviting anymore. 

“I have a visitor?” came Johnny’s over-the-top gasp. Kun doesn’t hold back his own scoff or his eye roll. He sips his Americano and watches the door swing open and Johnny stride out like a giant fool, only to realise that the floor is wet and has to promptly slip out of his shoes. 

“Hey,” Johnny grins, bending over to meet his lips. Kun almost forgets to close his eyes as he wonders if this is a thing now, them greeting each other in public with a-little-more-than-chaste kisses. JAEMIN THE CASUAL’s catcalling is also very distracting. “Aw, you took your shoes off! Cute.” 

“Are you almost done?” Kun asks. 

“Only ten more minutes.” The way Johnny’s playing with his hands, it’ll probably be more than ten minutes. “Are you coming to mine tonight?” 

Kun eyes flick briefly towards Jaemin the Casual, who’s still wearing an evil, evil smirk. “Yeah. Is that okay?” 

“Of course it is.” Kun thinks he’d rather take Jaemin the casual’s evil, evil smirk over the look Johnny’s giving him right now, but he doesn’t want Johnny to stop looking this way either. “You look tired.” 

“ _You_ look tired. Who asked you to take a seven-hour shift the day you landed?” 

“My boss,” Johnny replies dryly. 

“Just quit. I’ll pay your rent.” 

Jaemin the Casual clears his throat, somehow without dropping that stupid grin. Kun pulls his hands away. “Go,” Kun says. “The quicker you finish up, the quicker you can get home.” 

Johnny’s eyes don’t stop twinkling. “The quicker _we_ can get home.” 

Jaemin the Casual whistles again, and Kun wants to shove Jaemin’s face into his cup of Americano. 

**INT. JOHNNY’S APARTMENT — BEDROOM — NIGHT**

As soon as the door shuts behind them, Johnny strides straight to his bed and flops down, face down, half his body flailing off the edge. Kun thinks he might turn over and pull Kun down with him, but ten seconds into Kun hovering nearby, nothing happens.

He sits next to Johnny and prods his shoulder. “Do you have much to do tomorrow?” 

The bed muffles Johnny’s voice. “Alexa’s already got a production designer, somehow, so I have to go meet him. She also has her own suggestions for camera crew, which I hate.” 

“Man, I thought you guys were going well.” 

“We are! She’s just a control freak.” 

“Mm, she’s not the only one.” 

“True. So are you.” 

“Hey!” 

Johnny’s chuckles rumble through the mattress; Kun can feel them travel up his spine. “Can we just sleep tonight? I’m pretty tired.” 

“You look it. I was going to suggest the same thing.” 

“No you weren’t.” 

Kun grins. “Okay, fine, I wasn’t. But yeah, it’s better you sleep.” 

Johnny hums; Kun can feel that through his body too. They stay like that in silence that Kun wouldn’t really describe as comfortable, because there are too many thoughts in his head. 

“Oh!” Johnny leaps off the bed, nearly toppling Kun over. “Since you’re here, I want to show you something.” 

Johnny pulls out one of many machines from under his desk, this one a screen with wheels attached to it that would fit right into an old time-y science fiction movie. He watches in silence as Johnny pulls out his camera and reels the film before. Kun’s seen it before but a very, very long time ago now. 

“That film is tiny,” he says. 

“It’s 8mm. So, you know, eight millimetres?” Johnny looks at him like he’s stupid. “It’s delicate but so much cheaper than 16mm. Which means 16 millimetres, by the way.” 

Kun ignores the jab. “Isn’t it cheaper to just film on your phone and use a filter?” 

It’s a joke specifically designed to rile Johnny up — and it works. “Those aren’t the _same_. I could take a million videos just by pointing my phone at things, and then they just exist in the ether until I delete them. Where’s the heart in that?” Johnny runs his index finger over the top of one of the wheels. “Film is permanent. It’s tangible.” 

Kun wishes he could take Johnny’s camera and film his face himself. But he also thinks Johnny’s full of shit. “You’re so pretentious.” 

Johnny shrugs. “At least I don’t simp for Elon Musk. Here.” Johnny pulls a chair out. “Sit. Watch this.” 

Johnny turns off all the lights and Kun almost wants to fall asleep right there and then. But Johnny starts turning the crank, and suddenly Kun is watching himself in Johnny’s parent’s living room, back straight, one foot on the pedal as he plays the piano. He plays for a while before looking directly at the camera. There’s something dreamlike about it, how soft it looks, how close it sometimes gets to Kun’s face as he works on his dissertation at Johnny’s desk, talks to Johnny’s parents, wakes up in the morning on the mattress on Johnny’s floor. 

Kun feels like he’s seeing someone else. 

“This is kind of cool.” The screen is tiny, so he can’t see all that much. “How much of this do you have?” 

“A lot,” Johnny laughs. “Like, a _lot_. I’m thinking of splicing and editing it myself.” 

“You can do that?” 

“I’ve done it before. Not with this much film, though.” 

“Wow.” The reel ends on Kun brushing his teeth in the bathroom mirror and looking a mix of annoyed and amused when he realises he’s being filmed. Kun can’t believe he’s that transparent. “What was the point, though?” 

Kun yelps in pain when Johnny punches him in the arm. “Really? I thought I told you that’s not what you say to people’s films!” 

“No, I’m genuinely curious! What’s the point in filming so much of me?” 

Johnny’s shoulders sag. He reaches over to flick the screen of the viewer off. “I told you. Film is permanent.” 

It’s too dark without the light of the screen to read Johnny’s expression. Kun reaches for his chin and brushes a thumb against his bottom lip. “Let me be big spoon this time.” 

“Spicy. I like it.” 

“Shut up.” 

**INT. CAMPUS COMMUNITY CENTRE — DAY**

Kun wouldn’t normally be caught ordering from the Panda Express at the Union, but he needs a place to eat lunch and take a quick call without bothering anyone else. Besides, orange chicken isn’t Chinese, but it _is_ fucking delicious. He might be guilty of ordering it on Uber Eats every once in a while. No one has to know. 

He finds that quiet spot he always used to sit at in his freshman year when he was trying to avoid seeing anyone he knew, near the emergency stairs, and he’s just settled down when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pops his AirPods in his ears. “Mi ge!” 

“Kun di!” MI GE greets him in Mandarin. “You’re free now, aren’t you?”

“Yeah! How are you? Have you been well?” 

“Always asking about other people before yourself. I’m the same as always, I’m not the one who just came back from a holiday! How was it?” 

Kun recounts the events from his trip, assures his oldest friend that Johnny and his family treated him well, that he had fun, that he kept studying the entire time. (Leaving out, of course, the more life-changing events.) “My dissertation is going well,” he explains. “I’m ahead of everyone else.” 

“What are you eating?” 

Kuns ears feel hot. “Um, tacos.” 

“Oh, lucky! The tacos must taste good in Texas, don’t they?” 

“Yeah, it’s delicious. I’m savouring it right now.” 

“I heard the Chinese food’s very good in America. They have this one restaurant chain. Panda Express? Is that what it’s called?” 

“Oh yes, I think I’ve heard of that.” 

“My friend in St Louis says it’s delicious! He takes his kids all the time. Ah, you should’ve stopped there! You would like him.” 

“We weren’t even in Chicago long enough. I think Johnny had to come back earlier, though. He’s started working on his thesis film.” 

“You could’ve stayed back.” 

“Ah, I could have.” Kun tugs his ear. “But I also have my dissertation to work on.” 

“I thought you said you’re ahead of everyone else.” 

“I have more words down, but I don’t know if they’re good! My supervisor’s on holiday. Besides, I need this to be really good.” 

“Yes, the more impressive it is, the better your job prospects. Lot more companies will be willing to hire you.” 

“I’m only applying to the CNSA.” 

A long pause. “What do you mean?” 

“I’m not working anywhere else after college.” 

“What? What if you don’t get accepted?” 

“I will get accepted.” 

“Kun di.”

“What?” 

There’s a crackle on the other end of the line. “I wanted to call you because I met someone working for the CNSA the other day. Do you know what he told me?” 

Kun feels a prickle at the back of his neck. “What did he tell you?” 

“He said it’s basically impossible for you to get a job there as a graduate. You’ll need years of experience.” 

Kun nibbles at a piece of his chicken. “They accept graduates.” 

“Yes, they do, but they prefer experience and expertise. You’d have to be the very best applicant they get.” 

“If my dissertation is good enough, I don’t see why I can’t be.” 

“Kun di…” 

“You don’t think I can make it?” 

“It’s not that I don’t think you’re capable,” Mi ge sighs, “I just don’t know what everyone else’s application looks like. Not to mention, you got both your degrees at an American university. That doesn’t look very good.” 

Kun stabs his American chicken with his chopsticks. He’s not really surprised, but there’s definitely something ugly swirling in his stomach. “How the hell am I supposed to get space-based engineering experience anywhere else? I wasn’t going to go to Russia, I can’t speak Russian.” 

“I know.” 

“I came to America because I already knew English.” 

“I know, Kun.” 

His orange chicken doesn’t taste so good anymore. If he didn’t hate wasting food, he might have thrown it all in the trash. 

“There is one way you could fast track things.” 

Kun already knows what Mi ge is going to suggest. “Mm.” 

“Join the Air Force.” 

“I already have the required flight experience for the Astronaut Corps, and my pilot’s license is still valid in China.” 

“You’d get intensive flight experience. Simulated combat. It’ll prep you for astronaut training, too.” 

“Yeah, but I won’t actually work in anything space-related. Doing that for over ten years just feels like a waste of time.” 

“With your engineering qualifications and your dissertation, it’ll probably give you the edge over other Air Force pilots in contention, so you may get in faster if you meet the right people. I have friends in the Air Force who could probably help you rise up the ranks quicker.” 

Kun hums into his Airpod microphones. He’s aware it sounds more like a whine. 

“Being in a military is a huge honour,” Mi ge adds.

“I know it is. It just feels like such a huge detour, and I don’t even know what to expect.” 

“It’ll turn out well, I’m sure of it.” Mi ge pauses for a few beats, while Kun swallows his food. “All I’m saying is, your application to the CNSA definitely won’t be accepted. So you should start looking more seriously into Plan B.” 

Kun can’t eat anymore.

**INT. ENGINEERING BUILDING — GRAD LAB — DAY**

Kun stares at his computer screen until his eyes sting and the words defocus into nothing. He knows what to write, but putting it into words is another thing entirely. He considers packing up and taking the rest of the day off when he sees his phone screen light up. 

It’s a text from Johnny: ‘ _wanna hang out later?_ ’. 

Kun opens the message and stares at it, well aware that Johnny can see that it’s been read. He spends far too long concocting a reply in his head, considering how simple it is: ‘ _not tonight, kinda busy_ ’. 

He watches the grey dots come and go as Johnny keeps typing. Finally, he just gets a ‘ _:(_ ‘. 

Kun’s about to put his phone away, thinking Johnny’s done, but the dots appear again. ‘ _miss you_ ,’ Johnny sends. 

Kun finds the last heart emoji he used, sends it off, locks his phone and keeps it away. 

**INT. KUN’S DORM — NIGHT** ****

Kun stands in front of his almost full-length mirror, alternating between a light trench and a denim jacket. He shouldn’t have to worry this much, since it’s just his friends, and it’s just Johnny, but he needed something to disguise the fact that he did not actually want to leave the house at all. It’s a shame, because he’d been looking forward to this particular birthday for weeks, but now that it’s here, all he feels is apathy. 

His phone rings. Kun throws both jackets aside and steps over the groceries he forgot to put away to get to the door and throw it open. Johnny’s holding that stupid old camera to his face again. “I thought you were only using this during our vacation.” 

“You thought wrong.” Johnny steps over the threshold and holds out a tiny red rose boutonniere. “For you.” 

“Oh my god,” Kun groans, “I’m not even wearing a suit.” 

“Doesn’t have to be a suit.” Johnny eyes the two jackets strewn across Kun’s bed, lying half on top of a pile of the clothes Kun has been wearing over the past few days. He places his camera, angled, still filming, on Kun’s kitchen counter, and picks up the denim jacket Kun had been trying out. “Wear this.” 

“This is so not me,” Kun says, but he slips into the jacket anyway. “Is this a real rose?” 

Johnny snorts. “Of course not.” He threads the stem through the top button hole and twists the bottom out of sight. Then, without warning, he slips a finger into the top of Kun’s sweater and undershirt and pulls his chain out, letting it sit on top where it can be seen. “There.” 

Kun’s eyes roam Johnny’s figure, taking in his turtleneck and his tote bag, and the royal blue stone earring dangling from his right ear. “You’re wearing your birthday present from last year.” 

Johnny’s face lights up. “Yeah,” he says, flicking his ear. “I thought I should.” 

“It looks good.” 

“Of course it does. You gave it to me.” 

Kun shuts his eyes and pushes Johnny away, heading over to his desk and swiping his wallet. 

“Come on! You saw me around Taeyong.” Johnny hovers behind him, camera in his hand once again. “You have to know what I’m like by now.” 

“And you’ve seen me around Jungwoo, so you should know what to expect, too. Now let’s go, we’ll be late.” 

“Surely you can be late to your own party.” 

“Johnny.” 

“Right, that’d give you an aneurysm. Forgot.” Johnny pulls his camera down, toggling a few tiny switches. “Can I leave this here?” 

“You’re not bringing it with you?” 

“Nah. Light’s no good in the bar.” 

“Then why’d you bring it?” 

“For later.” Kun bites his lip, causing Johnny to backtrack at the speed of light. “No! Not like _that_. Well, not unless you want to.” 

“I was joking, but thank you.” 

**INT. BAR — NIGHT**

“Chug, chug, chug, chug!” 

Kun’s glad that it’s not him, for the first time that night, who’s forced to down a pint all at once. Johnny’s hand is firm on his waist, chanting as CHANGKYUN downs the thing, grip clenching when he tips the mug too far over and spills half the drink on himself. TOM and YANAN have to cart him away to the bathroom; Kun wants to join them, but everyone insists he stay by the bar. 

It’s a shame — Kun could do with a moment alone. The alcohol has well and truly addled his brain, and all he can think about are things he really shouldn’t be processing around other people, and he definitely shouldn’t be trying to process under the influence. Although perhaps now is the only time he _can_ think, now that the careful walls in his brain are dissolving. 

His friends can notice, he thinks. HANI keeps throwing him concerned glances, and at some point even _Daya_ asked him if he was okay. But Kun’s not at the point of passing out, so they’ve let him be. Besides, Johnny won’t keep his hands off of him, and everyone’s probably figured out that even if Kun does fall over, he’ll be accounted for. 

It’s VIVI who finally asks the dreaded question. “Are you guys dating now or what?” 

Kun has no idea. What do you call spending half the time making out with someone and half the time treating someone as you always have before? 

“Yeah, we are.” There’s a smile in Johnny’s voice, and the hand on Kun’s waist squeezes once again. 

The news is received with fake surprise and bored congratulations, but Kun’s brain is in overdrive. Are they dating? Talking about dating might have got them here in the first place, but they’ve never been on an explicit date. Have they? 

FLORENCE looks at Johnny and waggles her eyebrows. “You’re proposing at grad, aren’t you?” 

Johnny laughs goodheartedly, too honest for him to actually be hiding a ring somewhere. Kun knows he wouldn’t, anyway. They don’t have a chance. They don’t have a future. 

Kun doesn’t even know his own future anymore. 

And now that the thoughts have begun, they don’t stop. Not when Changkyun passes out, not when Vivi and her girlfriend get a little too handsy right in front of them, not when someone with a microphone yells out “Two minutes to go!” and his entire friend group has dispersed to various corners of the bar, leaving Johnny and him alone amongst a crowd on the verandah out back, with a view of the river. 

“How are we feeling?” Johnny asks, for at least the fifth time that night. So far, Kun has fended off the question just fine, but Kun’s had whiskey since he last asked. He can feel the chatter of everyone around them in his skull, and he’s going to collapse any minute now, he knows it.

It’s definitely the whiskey’s fault when he slurs, “I can’t do this anymore.” 

Johnny frowns. “Can’t do what anymore?” 

“I think we’re better off as friends.” 

“…What?” 

It’s only because of Johnny’s expression that it occurs to him that maybe he shouldn’t have opened his damn mouth. He’s charging through the crowd in an instant, shoving people away when he has to, ignoring Johnny’s calls after him, and then Yanan’s, and then Hani’s. He nearly walks right into the bar’s glass door when he hurries outside. 

The street isn’t as full as he expected it to be, and the night air hits him right through his jacket. Kun is halfway through wondering how much body heat he can generate by running home when he stops a cab. 

“Hey!” he practically shouts at the cab window he knocks on. “Can you drive me home?” 

“Are you crazy?” THE CABBIE replies, “You’re going to miss the fireworks!” 

“I want to go home!” 

He hears someone scream “one minute!” as he slams the cab door shut, not even bothering to argue when the driver asks for a far-too-expensive prepaid fare. The radio chatter is pure noise as Kun leans his head against the cool window. 

“Are you okay, sir?” the driver asks. 

“Please stop asking,” Kun says. 

“ _Three… two… one…. happy new year!_ ” the tinny voices shout. 

“Happy new year!” the cabbie repeats. Kun isn’t sure if he sounds cheerful, or Kun just feels that bad. 

“It’s my birthday.” 

“Oh! Happy birthday to you, then!” 

“Hng.” 

“New year’s must be a special time of the year for you! It’s like the whole world is celebrating.” 

“Hng.” 

“…I think I’ll let you be.” 

**INT. KUN’S DORM — DAY**

Kun hasn’t opened his eyes when he realises two things: one, that he is too awake to return to sleep, and two, that his head doesn’t actually hurt that much. When his eyes fight the crust caked in their corners and finally blink away, he realises that there are noises in his apartment. 

With a start, he’s upright, looking around wildly; all he sees is Johnny at his stove with his one non-stick pan that he uses for eggs. Johnny looks over his shoulder, and suddenly bile hits Kun’s throat and he’s scrambling for the bathroom. 

“One a scale of one to Changkyun, how shit do you feel?” Johnny asks when Kun is done puking his guts out. The smell of instant ramen isn’t very appetising, what with the memory of vomit and the taste of toothpaste still in his mouth. Kun feels back ache as he tries to sit back down at his desk, where a plate of instant ramen and a fried egg waits for him, and thinks, ah, there it is. The pain. 

“How is Changkyun?” he asks. 

“Worse than you.” 

“Mm.” Kun accepts the chopsticks Johnny passes him and stabs them into the yolk. “You probably want to talk.” 

“Yeah, but…” Johnny lowers his head, but it’s not shy or hesitant. Kun can’t even tell what it is — is it anger? Sadness? Nervousness? Kun has seen Johnny be all of those things, and none of them look like this. 

Hungover is not the best state to be in for this conversation, but he figures Johnny deserves it, at least. It was pretty shitty of him to run away. 

“I’ve just been thinking, and… I don’t think I can actually date you, Johnny. It’s been a few days, and I tried, but I can’t do it.” 

Johnny remains impossible to read. Kun watches with his tongue between his teeth as Johnny pulls up the chair opposite Kun’s and takes a seat. “Can I ask why?” 

Kun should’ve expected he’d want more. “I didn’t even know we were dating until last night, you know? I know we’re definitely not friends anymore, but we never really put a name to it.” 

“We don’t have to,” Johnny interrupts. “We don’t have to be dating or have any labels, if that’s what you want. We can still be friends, just… more.” 

“But you want to date me,” Kun points out. Johnny presses his lips together. “You’re never going to be satisfied with no labels, because you like me too much.” 

Johnny looks at his hands. “Yeah.” 

It’s not all he wants to say, Kun can tell. Kun doesn’t need to hear it now, either, just as much as Johnny doesn’t need to hear that Kun loves him too.

At least, not at this moment. “I don’t want to date you knowing that we’ll just have to say goodbye later. You feel more… more than that.” 

“We don’t have to break up when we graduate, you know. I don’t really care if you move to the other side of the world.” 

“Johnny.” 

“I’m sorry,” Johnny breathes, “I’m struggling to understand what your problem is.” 

Kun swallows. “I may never be an astronaut.” 

Johnny furrows his brow. “That’s not a very you thing to say.” 

“I may never be an astronaut,” Kun repeats, firmer. “I won’t get into the CNSA straight out of college like I’ve been telling everyone I will. Like I thought I will. I knew it was impossible, but I always thought— I always thought—” 

“Kun, you’re shaking.” 

Kun places his chopsticks at the edge of his plate and presses his hands flat on the table. Johnny’s hand reaches for his, but Kun jerks out of the way. “I don’t know what my future is. I don’t know where I’m headed, I don’t know what I’m going to do. I can’t drag you along into that.” 

“Kun—” 

“And it’ll just suck if I have to go back to China to _nothing_ , and I won’t even have you there.” 

“Like I said, you won’t lose me—” 

“It will feel like a loss.” 

There are tears in his eyes. Kun can’t believe he’s the one crying when Johnny is still sitting there, unmoved. It should be the other way around. 

“Keep talking,” Johnny coaxes him, gentle. 

Kun takes a deep breath. “I don’t think you and I are going to work out. I can’t have you the way I want, and you can’t have me the way you should.” 

Johnny purses his lips. “That’s a shitty reason to end things.” 

Kun closes his eyes. “Yeah.” 

“We’ve been friends for more than five years, and I’m pretty sure I’ve loved you that entire time. How can you possibly think we can go back to the way we were before?” 

Kun takes another deep breath. He curls his fingers to regain sensation, till he feels his nails dig into his palms. 

“I’m worried about you,” Johnny says, softer. 

Kun doesn’t open his eyes. “Don’t be.” 

After a long stretch of silence, he hears shuffling, a chair dragging back against his carpet, feet stepping around. He opens one eye a sliver just in time to see Johnny pick up the camera he’d left on his kitchen counter — he’d completely forgotten about that. He screws his eyes shut again when Johnny starts to turn around. 

“I’ll text one of your friends to come check on you,” Johnny grunts. He sounds like he’s near the door when he speaks up again. “Good luck, Kun.” 

Kun opens his eyes when the door slams shut, and all that’s left is his now-lukewarm ramen. He flips the egg over so what’s left of the yolk drips onto the noodles, struggling to wet them now that it’s sat out too long. 

Fuck. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You should be using a condom during oral sex too


	3. ACT III: ORBIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **WARNING:** Some drinking, sex scene.

**ACT III: ORBIT**

**EXT. OUTSIDE THE QIAN HOUSE — DAY**

**SUPER: “Two years later.”**

Kun watches as SHUSHU throws the last of his bags into the backseat of his car, SHENSHEN and his BABA debating how it should be arranged. It’s a snug fit considering how much of his life he’s lugging over. 

He feels a soft hand at the short hairs at the back of his neck. “Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?” MAMA asks. 

“You can barely fit in the car, Mama.” He nods at his uncle, still trying to close the door on the suitcase the way his wife had asked him to arrange it — now with added extended family members to complicate the matter. “See?” 

“Why couldn’t Baba let Shushu use the Range Rover? It’s much easier.” 

“Because Shushu isn’t back for three months.” 

His mother tuts. “It’s not like we use it anymore. Not since we bought the BMW.” 

Kun returned from eighteen months travelling around the country to find that his parents had moved back to Fujian and replaced him with a brand new luxury car. He had no issue coming back here instead of Shanghai — even if their Fujian bungalow wasn’t quite home anymore — but the problem is that his parents had settled nicely into their retirement and were calling family over every day. 

Every. 

Single. 

Day. 

But that won’t be a problem anymore, because they’ve left the Shanghai apartment to him. 

“Alright!” his uncle exclaims. “We’re ready to go.” 

The hand on his neck squeezes. “Yima’s housekeeper has cleaned the house, but you need to remember to keep it clean for when your friend arrives.” 

“I know, Mama. That’s only three days away.” 

“I remember how messy you used to be. I know training has changed you, but old habits die hard.” 

“I’ll try to be clean for the rest of the week at least.” 

“And eat all your meals! All three of them!” 

“I will!” 

“Not at the noodle shop at the corner! Good food. With fresh vegetables.” 

“Yes, Mama.” 

“Stop berating him, love!” Baba meets Kun at the passenger-side door, holding it open. “Our only son’s going off to live on his own!” 

“I’ve been mostly living alone since I was 18,” Kun points out. 

“Yes, but now you own a house!” 

Kun doesn’t feel so accomplished considering the house was given to him, but he accepts the pats on his shoulder. He gets passed around from aunt to aunt to uncle, accepts kisses from his NAINAI, pauses to listen to whatever childhood tale his YEYE has for him that probably started as advice, but he doesn’t remember what his point was anymore. Finally, he gets to pull his mother to his chest and hold her tight. 

“If you have any problems, tell Yima,” she tells him. 

“I know. We went over this already.” 

“And _call me_.” 

“I will! You don’t think I will?” 

“You hardly called when you were away!” 

“Because I was in Air Force training, Mama, sheesh!” 

“We’ll miss the train!” Kun’s uncle calls from inside the car. 

Kun turns to his father. He feels his hand firm and heavy on his shoulder. It’s comforting. 

“Enjoy the house,” his father says. 

Kun grins. “I will, Baba.” 

His father nods, and Kun is packed into the car at lightning speed. It’s completely over the top, how his entire family has come to see him off even though he’s not going anywhere far or anywhere strange, and considering that this is nowhere near the first time he’s left home on his own.

“It’s just the two of us, now!” Shushu chirps. 

Kun is not as excited at the prospect of spending two days on the road with his uncle, but he humours him anyway. “Hooray!” 

“Let me show you my music collection!” 

“…Hooray!” 

**INT. KUN’S SHANGHAI APARTMENT — KUN’S BEDROOM — DAY**

Kun doesn’t remember his home ever feeling this big. 

He knows why; it’s because he’s here by himself, and half the stuff is gone. His parents took everything they hoarded back to Fujian, so all that’s left in Kun’s living room is a futon, a coffee table and a decades-old TV unit that looks like it came right out of the 60s. 

His room is much more familiar. His parents had left everything in it as is, probably anticipating he’d be moving in eventually; all his model planes and Jolin Tsai posters and the glow-in-the-dark stars on the ceiling and the A2 printout of Yang Liwei on the wall (his parents had gotten _so_ mad when he’d brought that home). 

Kun runs his hand over his old keyboard. “I missed you,” he whispers. And because he can’t help himself, he switches it on and starts playing a few scales. 

Halfway through yet another rendition of ‘River Flows in You’, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls his left sleeve up his arm to check his Apple watch and sees a ‘im coming over in 15 minutes be ready’ text from Chenle. 

Ah, shit. That kid. 

Kun leaps back out into his empty house and puts some water on the boil. 

**INT. DUMPLING RESTAURANT — DAY**

Just fifteen minutes earlier, Kun could only focus on comfort of his favourite restaurant — the one tubelight that had now been fixed, the picture gallery of the owner standing next to various local minor celebrities (including, bizarrely, Chenle) and the smell of his absolute favourite foods all mixed into one. Right now, though, he can only focus on the fact that the xiao long bao has finally arrived. 

“A toast!” CHENLE declares, raising his glass of wine. “To xiao long bao!” 

DEJUN, RENJUN and SICHENG tut and sigh, but Kun raises his own. “Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence, xiao long bao!” 

“Cheers!” 

“I wish you’d stayed in military training,” Renjun mutters as Kun downs the rest of his drink and pours himself another glass. 

Kun makes to get out of his chair. “Oh, I’m sorry, should I leave?” 

“No!” Renjun replies as Dejun answers “go ahead” and Sicheng laughs quietly on the side. 

“Biao Ge,” Sicheng says, “Did you ever get to fly a fighter jet?” 

Kun places a dumpling into his soup spoon and bits the tip of it off. “The reason my training was so long was so that I could learn how to fly a fighter jet.” 

“That’s so cool!” 

“Does the short hair make you more aerodynamic?” Dejun asks dryly, and Renjun nearly chokes on his soup. 

“It’s just hygiene,” Kun sniffs. He ghosts his lip over his open dumpling to test for its heat; once he’s satisfied, he dunks the whole thing in his mouth. “God, that’s delicious.” 

“Sucks to be you, I have it almost every day.” 

“Shut up, Renjun.” 

“How long before you’re deployed again?” Sicheng asks. 

“I’m off to Huairen in two weeks.” Kun reaches for another dumpling. “I don’t know why Baba didn’t just sell the apartment. I’ll hardly even be here.” 

“I’ll take it then,” Dejun says. 

“No.” Kun throws his cousin a sharp look. “I’m glad I have it. I just don’t see the point.” 

“It’ll be nice to know you still have it to go back to,” Chenle says. 

“I guess. It’s pretty lonely without anyone else around.” 

“Let’s move in.” 

“No thank you,” Sicheng insists, “I’m really fine, I don’t need to do that. Thank you.” 

“Isn’t that Johnny guy visiting soon, though?” Renjun asks. 

Kun nods. “He lands tomorrow morning. Nine o’clock, I think.” He points his chopsticks in Chenle’s direction. “Which is exactly why I can’t stay out and get blackout drunk.” 

Chenle grins evilly. “We’ll see.” 

“Won’t it be weird to have him stay over?” Renjun continues. “You’re not really friends anymore.” 

Of course it’ll be weird, Kun thinks. There’s no part of it that won’t be weird. He kind of (but not entirely) regrets offering to let Johnny stay with him, even more so now that he’s experienced being in that apartment alone. But Johnny’s always broke, and accommodation is still pricey after the Lunar New Year; Kun wouldn’t wish that anguish on anyone. 

Kun shrugs. “If it gets weird then at least he’s not here for long. And I’ll probably never see him again after that.” 

“Well, if things get too weird to handle,” Sicheng says, “Just let one of us know. We can keep you busy.” 

Kun grins. “Thanks, Biao Di. As long as it doesn’t involve alcohol, because that didn’t end well the last time.” 

Chenle mimes his chopsticks walking swiftly across his plate. “This is Tang Xiong running out of a bar at the stroke of midnight.” 

Kun swipes his hands away. “Hey!” 

“Like Cinderella.” 

“Cut it out!” 

A waitress places two plates in front of them, without a word, and walks away. The five of them stare at the new addition to their table for a minute, before Chenle raises his glass again.

“A toast! To the Peking duck!” 

“Thank you for finally gracing us with your presence, Peking duck!” 

“You guys are so embarrassing.” 

**INT. KUN’S SHANGHAI APARTMENT — KITCHEN — DAY**

Kun’s always felt great after a run. What used to be three miles as a kid turned to five in college, and now ten ever since he enlisted. It didn’t take long to realise that his neighbourhood wasn’t the best place for a ten-mile run, but he had woken up early enough to catch a cab to some place with room. 

Now, after spending 40 minutes stuffy and smelly in a cab, all he wants is a shower. A nice, hot one to soothe his headache left over from his shenanigans with his cousins the previous night. As he’s getting water, though, he sees that he has a new text from Johnny: ’ _just landed_ ’. 

Kun stares at his screen, phone in one hand, empty glass in the other. He keeps the phone aside, face down, while he fills his glass with the coldest option from the water filter, and drinks it all in a few smooth gulps. He shoots Johnny a ‘ _do you need breakfast?_ ’ and then, because he can’t help it, scrolls up through their WeChat conversation. There’s the semi-frequent back-and-forth to organise Johnny’s stay here, starting with when Johnny mentioned he needed cheap accommodation while he’s here for work. Kun cringes at the text where he asks Johnny to just stay at his apartment to save money. 

It’s bare bones from there — a ’ _happy new year_ ’, ‘ _tell doyoung to let me pay him $200 i know he’s with you_ ’, ‘ _happy birthday_ ’, every few months, sparking bare minimum conversations that have been polite and nothing more. He stops at one from ages ago — ‘ _i’m glad you feel it’s working out for you_ ’.

He remembers receiving it. It was the first time he’d talked to Johnny since graduating university, and it was nothing, just a ‘ _how are you?_ ’ from Johnny that had turned into a quick rundown of what they were up to. Johnny had spent so long typing back then, and so long typing after, but that was still all he had to offer in the end. Kun still wonders if Johnny knew what it was doing to Kun’s mind at the time. 

There’s a notification for a new text below, and Kun hits the down arrow to find it: ‘ _i’m good thanks_ ’ 

Kun tosses his phone back on the kitchen counter. It’ll be at least an hour before Johnny arrives; it’s time for him to take that shower. 

**EXT. OUTSIDE KUN’S APARTMENT BUILDING — DAY**

Kun knows what Johnny looks like now. They still have mutual friends, and Johnny meets them sometimes, and Kun sees pictures. They’re not frequent, but they’re enough to know that Johnny doesn’t sport the same soft brown hair that he used to, that he still works out, that he hasn’t had anything drastic done to his face. 

That doesn’t stop his heart getting caught in his throat when he walks through the door to his building’s foyer and sees Johnny arguing with the taxi driver in passable Mandarin, two cameras, hanging off his shoulder, backpack on his back, luggage handle in his hands. His hair is a deep red and the lines in his face are harder, but his clothes haven’t changed at all. 

“Keep it!” Johnny insists, hand swatting away a wad of cash. “I don’t want it!” 

“We don’t accept tips,” the driver replies, tired. 

“I don’t want it! Take it!” 

Kun tugs his heart back into his chest and steps forward, snatching the bills away before the situation escalates. “He’s with me,” Kun tells the driver. “Thank you.” 

“You should have warned him how it is here,” the driver grumbles. “I could end up in jail.” 

Kun knows that’s not the law, but he lets the driver keep grumbling to himself. He turns to meet Johnny’s eye, and then immediately looks away, pulling Johnny’s suitcase out of the way of the exhaust. “I would have thought you’d do a bit more research before travelling to a new country,” Kun tells him in English. 

“I… I didn’t know they don’t tip here.” Johnny’s voice gets louder, presumably because he’s following. “Is that why the lady at the airport Starbucks was so alarmed?” 

“Oh my god, I’m pretty sure tipping at airports is _actually_ illegal. Well done.” 

“Is it?” 

Kun smiles to himself as he punches in the code. He holds the big glass door open and waits as Johnny lets himself inside. “How was your flight?” 

“It was good. I slept.” Johnny clutches his camera straps with his free hand as he pulls his luggage in. “That counts as good, right?” 

“I’d count that as good. Twenty hours, right?” 

“Twenty-three, door to door. Traffic in LA sucked.” 

“I’ve heard it always does.” 

“You heard right. Is that an elevator? Does it work?” 

Kun bites back a laugh as he jabs the ‘up’ button. “Yes, it works.” 

“Fancy.” 

Kun faces the door and stares straight ahead as they head up to the eighth floor, but he can’t ignore Johnny’s eyes boring into him in the dirty reflection. He’s trying not to look, Kun can tell, but he’s not doing a very good job. Kun puts him out of his misery by meeting his eyes in the mirror. 

Johnny’s eyes flick away, then back into Kun’s. “Sorry. I can’t get over your hair.” 

Kun runs a hand through his buzzcut. “Oh. I guess it’s different to what you’re used to.” 

“Definitely different.” Johnny’s eyes avert to the floor. “You liked it long.” 

“I still do. I don’t exactly have a choice anymore.” 

“That must suck.” 

“You get over it.” 

The fifth floor changes to sixth, then seventh. Kun holds back a sigh as the doors slide open and he leads Johnny down the corridor to his home. He doesn’t need to look to know Johnny is admiring the colourful tiles, the gaudy green walls with their cracks in them. Kun’s building was expensive once, but now it’s just old. 

“Here.” Kun unlocks the grill door first, slipping out of his shoes and placing them neatly on the shoe rack. As Johnny follows suit, Kun drags his luggage and cameras inside and waits further inside. Johnny’s eyes roam the half-bare room as he steps in, no doubt taking in every little detail. 

“This is the living room,” Kun gestures, before moving further in. “The kitchen’s through there. Bathroom next to it. There’s a balcony through those French doors, and this,” Kun pushes his parents’ old bedroom door open, “Is where you’ll be sleeping.” 

Johnny scans the place: the queen-sized bed, Kun’s mother’s old vanity, the now-outdated flatscreen TV they’d bought in 2010. “Thanks.” 

“Closet’s empty if you want to use it. Make yourself at home.” If possible, Kun thinks to himself. “Do you start work today?” 

“I think I slept off my jet lag on the flight, so I might as well.” 

“Coffee, then?” 

“I already had some, thank you.” 

“You dodged a bullet. I only have instant.” 

Johnny winces, and Kun has to hold himself back from teasing more. Some things, apparently, never change.

He clears his throat. “If you need anything, let me know. I’ll be in my room.” 

“I’ll probably be out.” 

“Well, tell me ahead of time if you need lunch or dinner.” 

“Will do.” As Kun turns to leave him be, he calls out, “Wait, just one thing.” 

“Yes?” 

“How do I get to the French Concession?” 

“The metro. Public transport here is really good. Do you have a Jiaotong card?” 

“Yeah.” Johnny rummages around his backpack and fishes out a booklet, complete with a public transport map. “But how do I get there from here?” 

In minutes, Kun has a marker out, drawing out the quickest ways to get to all the locations on Johnny’s list, marks down exact directions for which station entrances he needs to take, talks him out of going to too many places in one day. He pretends he’s doing it from a place of hospitality, not care, or something else. 

“They should speak English in most of these places,” Kun explains, “But your Mandarin sounded pretty good earlier.” 

“I picked it up again last year,” Johnny says. “Just so I could do something that isn’t film. I’m pretty sure everyone can tell I’m a foreigner, though.” 

“Of course they can.” 

Johnny laughs dryly. “Okay, I better get ready.” 

Kun points at the vanity. “Fresh towels in there.” 

“Thank you.” 

Johnny’s soft smile is the last Kun sees of him before he retreats to his own bedroom. He gazes around, wondering which of his childhood trinkets he’ll play with today, when his eyes land on the framed star map sitting on the back of his desk. In simple white letters, coordinates and a date. 

Kun picks the frame off of his desk and shoves it into the bottom drawer of his wardrobe. 

**EXT. STREET — NIGHT**

Walking amongst the neon shop signs and the smell of street food and the crowds, Kun hits the green ‘accept’ button on his watch and adjusted his AirPods in his ear. “Mama!” 

“Turn the camera on, I can’t see you!” 

“I’m not home. Did you want to call back later?” 

“No, it’s fine. Your grandparents are coming over soon, so I thought I’d call you before that. You’re on speaker, by the way.” 

“Hi, Baba.” 

“Hi, love!” his father sings, “Look at what your mother’s cooking!” 

Kun chuckles. “I can’t really _see_ anything.” 

“It’s a whole feast! You wish you were here.” 

“If it’s Mama’s cooking then I’m sure I do.” 

“What are you eating for dinner?” his mother asks. 

“A stir fry, maybe? I’m on my way home from the market. I haven’t decided yet.” 

“You only went grocery shopping now? What did you eat for lunch?” 

Kun’s ears sear. “Noodles.” 

“I told you not to keep eating at the corner store!” 

“It’s okay, Laopo, he’s making dinner now, isn’t he? Just one time is okay.” 

“It’s not healthy! If you eat too much, they’ll make you eat plain boiled chicken at the base again.” 

Kun cringes. “That’s why I bought groceries.” 

“How is your friend? Johnny? He landed today, didn’t he?”

“Uh, yeah. This morning. He’s fine.” 

“Is he settling well?” his father asks. 

“I don’t know, he left pretty soon after he came. He’s here for work and I guess he has a lot to do.” 

“Hmm.” 

“Have you shown him around?” his mother asks. 

“No, I haven’t had the opportunity. Besides, he went to see a lot of tourist spots today, judging by what he told me.” 

“You didn’t go along?” 

“No. He’s working.” 

Kun’s father hums in that way that sounds like a bear growling. “Are you sure you’re comfortable having him around?” 

Kun nearly stops in his place. “Uh, yeah. He’s my friend. It’s just been a long time since we talked.” 

“It’s just that,” he could hear the frown in his mother’s voice, “You never talked about it but we can tell something happened. You used to be so close, but you hardly talked to him when we visited you in America.” 

Kun adjusts the cloth bag in his hands as carefully as possible, so the eggs inside don’t break. It wasn’t that he was trying to keep it a secret, it was just… well, telling his parents was weird. But of course he couldn’t hide it forever — not when Johnny was such a big part of the six years he spent in America. 

“He asked me to be his boyfriend, and I said no,” Kun tells his parents. It’s not the whole truth, and not entirely a lie. His parents are deathly silent on the other end, so he adds, “I didn’t want to say no.” 

“…Hu zi…” 

“It’s fine, Mama. It was years ago. I don’t think about it as much as I used to.” 

“But you’re okay having him in the house?” Kun’s father is all business; it’s a great distraction from his mother’s voice, which is too sweet, too soothing. “You can always call your cousins over.” 

“I’m the one who invited him to stay, remember? It’s fine. Besides, I don’t think I’ll see him very much.” 

“As long as you’re sure.” 

“If you need to talk, any time, we’ll listen,” his mother says. “I know you feel like you can’t, but your Baba and I know what it’s like to fall in love.” 

Kun’s father chuckles. “I still remember the first time I saw you.” Kun rolls his eyes. He can practically see him hug his mother from the back. “You rejected my marriage proposal.” 

His mother giggles. “Because we were six!” 

Kun tunes out the overly affectionate back-and-forth; he was never subjected to it as a child, but was confronted with it nearly every day for the past two weeks. He’s almost home by the time they wish him goodbye, punching his code into the keypad outside his door. On the shoe rack is an unfamiliar pair of shoes. 

Johnny’s home. 

Kun finds him staring at the old entertainment unit in the living room. Johnny turns, startled, when he realises he’s not alone. “Oh. Uh, hi. I was just,” Johnny gestures at the unit. “This is _old_.” 

Kun raises an eyebrow. “Yes.”

“I haven’t seen anything that looks like this in, like, 20 years.” 

“I think it was already old-fashioned when my dad bought it. My parents love vintage-looking things.” 

“So you’ve said.” It’s only just louder than a whisper, but Kun still hears it. He stares down at his grocery bags and his sack of rice. 

“Have you eaten?” 

“Uh, no. Not yet.” 

“I’m making a stir fry. Do you want some?” 

“Oh no, you don’t have to cook for me.” 

Kun wears his most courteous smile. “It’s not that much more effort on my end. I don’t mind.” 

Johnny rubs the back of his neck. “I was kind of hoping to try those soup dumplings tonight.” 

Kun’s smile lessens just a little bit. He doesn’t know if it’s noticeable — he hopes not. “Oh. Yeah, they’re pretty good.” Kun raises his grocery bag, “I’ll put these away. Enjoy your dinner!” 

Despite putting all the cheer he could muster in that statement, it’s embarrassing how disappointed Kun sounds. Maybe Johnny will ignore it and he doesn’t have to see him till morning. What does he have to gain from cooking Johnny dinner, anyway? 

He’s halfway through the cold produce before Johnny appears in the kitchen doorway. “Do you wanna go eat with me? We could just catch up, I don’t know.” 

Kun uses the excuse of the tofu in his hands to lean over and hide his grin behind the fridge door. “Sure. I know a great spot.” 

**INT. DUMPLING RESTAURANT — NIGHT**

They’re at the same restaurant Kun was in the night before, eating almost the exact same thing. Kun doesn’t mind, though, not after months upon months of army food. 

Johnny is the most animated Kun’s seen in years. “…But the DP wants to shoot in Shanghai because he was born here, and he thinks it suits his visual style better. So while he and the director are off location scouting in Japan, he sent me to location scout here.” Johnny takes a swig of his beer. “Which is totally going to blow up in his face.” 

“Won’t that throw the film off the budget?” 

Johnny snorts. “I didn’t travel here on a budget. If I did, I’d be in a hotel.” 

“Then…” 

“DP paid for my flights, I’m funding the rest.” 

“Is that legal?” 

Johnny shrugs. Ominous. “Technically the film hasn’t been greenlit yet, so it’s not really illegal either.” 

“That sounds… not right.” 

“It’s not great, but this film is almost definitely getting made, and the DP really likes my short film pitches so I want to stay in his good books. Maybe one day he’ll like my feature ideas too.” 

“Sounds like it’s going to be an expensive movie if it’s being shot overseas.” 

“Yeah, especially since we’re an international production, and these are big cities. But budgeting is not my problem. I’m just AC. Oh, thank you!” Johnny wishes the waitress in Mandarin when she brings them some more xiao long bao. “As long as I get paid well and this gets me another job. Which it probably will, because the DP’s got some amazing ideas.” He pauses. “Except this Shanghai thing.” 

“Why does it need to be in Asia, anyway? Why not just go to Chinatown or something?” 

“One, shooting in Chinatown is apparently just as expensive as shooting in Tokyo.” Johnny places a dumpling onto his soup spoon. “Two, director’s a neon weeb.” 

“Right. I don’t think you needed that first reason to explain.” 

“Just wanted to be thorough.” 

Kun reaches for a claw of crab. “How many locations do you need? I’m guessing they’re mostly shopping and bar districts, judging by your list yesterday.” 

“More or less. There’s a couple of residential areas I’m struggling with, though.” Johnny gulps the now warm soup and dumpling all in one go. “Here’s the real kicker, right: the DP was born here, but he was adopted as a baby so he’s never even lived here. So he doesn’t actually know anything about Shanghai.” 

Kun cocks his head. “Then why did he want to shoot here?” 

“Right? This is why it’s going to blow up in his face. I think he just wants an excuse to explore where he was born during production, because he doesn’t have money to travel.” 

“Couldn’t he have just gone on holiday himself instead of paying for your flight here?” 

Johnny huffs. “Men.” 

Kun looks away, hiding his quiet laughter behind his chopsticks. For a moment, because Johnny is so busy with picking his next dumpling, he thinks it might go unnoticed, but he looks back and Johnny looks enthralled. 

It’s an expression Kun has seen many, many times before. He tries not to choke on air. 

“I can probably help you out with some of those locations,” Kun says, keeping his voice as even as possible. “I grew up here after all. Only if you want, though.” 

Before Kun can stop him, Johnny places a dumpling right in his mouth. Kun can see his eyes go from dazed to panicked, to wild, and he’s coughing and huffing and puffing and generally causing a scene. Impressive that he doesn’t dribble soup everywhere — Kun remembers his first time. Granted, he was a child. 

“Oh my god,” Johnny wheezes, bent over a table. 

“I warned you.” 

“Oh my _god_. I think I burnt my tongue.” 

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

Johnny wheezes again and reaches for his beer, downing at least half the bottle in a few seconds. “Jesus fucking Christ.” 

“Don’t let your mother hear you say that.” 

Johnny throws Kun a sharp look and he wonders if he’s said anything wrong. “Jeez. I’m never eating it like that again.” 

“You never should’ve done it in the first place. What were you thinking?” 

Johnny sticks his tongue out, as if air-drying it will soothe the burn. He takes a deep breath. “I’ll take you up on that help, by the way.” 

“What?” 

“Showing me around places you know. It’ll be better, since you’re a local.” 

Kun blinks twice. “Okay.” 

Johnny shoots him a lukewarm smile, and it still doesn’t meet his eyes like it used to, but it still makes Kun’s heart beat an unnatural tempo. 

**EXT. PARK — DAY**

The cold weather means there aren’t as many people around, the trees are still bare and the wind clips at Kun’s uncovered ears. This is definitely not what Johnny was thinking about when he described the kind of park he needed to Kun, but it’s honestly his fault for coming to China when it’s not even spring yet. 

“This will look better in April,” Kun says. 

“I think it’s charming.” The way Johnny’s eyes sweep the park remind him a lot of the way Kun’s superiors at base would scan the perimeter when arriving somewhere new. 

“I thought you’d want something quieter than Century Park. And there’s no entrance fee.” 

“I like it. And it’s still pretty sunny for this time of the year.” Johnny lets the Canon he’s holding hang around his neck as he reaches into his satchel. “You might want to take a seat. We could be here a while.” 

Kun’s accompanied Johnny on many film things before — he calls them “things” because he usually doesn’t know what Johnny’s doing. All he saw was Johnny’s single-minded focus, whether it’s being hunched over behind a tripod, or telling other people what to do, or just sitting at his laptop writing. Kun will never forget the first time he saw Johnny at work — fun, loud Johnny who Kun had never seen without a smile at that point, who never seemed to take anything seriously, suddenly all hard lines and clipped speech teaching Kun how to carry a boom mic. 

Johnny is the same now, except that Kun isn’t distracting him with stupid comments, and he therefore isn’t smiling as much. And unlike that first time in freshman year, Kun knows, now, that Johnny’s work persona is more of a mask, one that he has to put a lot of effort into. 

Kun watches him from a bench till he’s wandered out of sight. Johnny never asks him to follow, so he stays on a bench near the entrance, looking through his phone, then people-spotting when he’s tired of scrolling. There are texts from his friends that he leaves for later. 

“Hey, can you hold that position for a bit?” 

Kun blinks his eyes wider and sees Johnny in front of him, Canon hovering near his chin, folder tucked in his arm. He almost moves, but then remembers that Johnny asked him to hold, not sit up. “Sure.” 

Kun spaces out while Johnny takes his time, taking one angle, then another, moving around, adjusting settings on his cameras, stopping to take notes in between every shot. Kun’s been here, too, more often than not — Johnny’s stand-in. 

Or as he used to call it, his “model”. 

“Sorry,” Johnny says. “There’s a scene with a bench, and it helps if there’s a person on it.” 

“Don’t mention it.” Kun yawns. “Do you have everything you need?” 

“I do.” Johnny sits next to him on the bench. “Check this out.” He holds his camera out, preview on, and flicks through all his photos until he settles on one of what looks like flowers upon flowers peeking through grass. 

Kun leans in and squints at it. “Where did you find this?” 

“Just past those trees.” Johnny points behind them. “There are so many. Is that normal for this time of the year?” 

“No. Can I see?” 

Johnny leads him past the trees, well past any paths, to a small clearing of nothing but tall grass and tiny flower buds, mostly green but enough purple to give Kun a good idea of how many flowers are around him. Kun squats in the greenery, ignoring the mud grazing his pants and the bottom of his tan jacket. 

“I think this is cress,” Kun murmurs, fingering one of the stems. “It’s edible.” 

“It is?” 

“Yeah, it’s not common anymore, but it’s technically a vegetable. I only ever see it in fine dining nowadays.” 

A camera shutter clicks and Kun’s head snaps up to see Johnny with a different, vintage camera in his hands, looking just as startled as he feels. Johnny looks back and forth between his camera and Kun, expression growing with horror by the minute. 

“Sorry,” he says, mystified. “Force of habit.” 

Kun bites his tongue. He pushes himself to his feet and dusts himself off, straightening out his sleeves. “I’m starved. There’s a place that sells quail eggs nearby. Interested?” 

He stalks off before Johnny has the chance to respond. As he leaves the clearing, he looks over his shoulder and sees Johnny following, eyes firmly on the ground ahead of him. 

**EXT. INTERNATIONAL SCHOOL — BASKETBALL COURTS — DAY**

Johnny is much more tentative about leaning on the other side of the metal court-side fence, watching the crowd of teens — and some adults — spending their lunch out playing instead of at home. Six courts, laid out side by side, bright green and rust and the Chinese flag waving high above them. 

“Isn’t this a university?” Johnny asks. 

Kun chuckles. “This was my high school.” 

“ _This_ was your _high school_?” 

Kun smirks. “Yep.” 

“Oh wow, there’s a race track around these courts!” 

“Yep,” he pops the ‘p’. 

“Geez. And I thought my school was fancy.” 

“I told you I went to an international school.” 

“We don’t have international schools in America. I didn’t know they looked like this.” 

“Well. Now you know.” 

“I don’t think we can afford filming here.” 

“Oh.” Kun chest falls. “I didn’t think of that.” A pause. “This is where I used to play growing up. Sorry.” 

Johnny’s fingers curl around the metal of the fence. “It’s nice, though.” He looks up. “Big. I can imagine you going here.” 

Kun isn’t sure what about the building makes him say that, but before he can go into whatever weird theory he’s probably concocting in his head, Kun pushes away. “There’s some public courts not too far away. Come on.” 

**EXT. PUBLIC BASKETBALL COURTS — DAY**

“This is more like it.” Johnny looks much happier as he walks through the complex, this time entirely asphalt. “There’s so many people here. Do you think they’ll mind if I take pictures?” 

“If anyone asks, tell them you’re working on a big Hollywood film.” 

Johnny throws him a shy smile before he’s away. Kun sits on the concrete steps to the side, watching with his chin in his hands as Johnny snaps away from boundary — or as close as you can get to a boundary without any painted lines — and then tries to move closer and is forced to field questions from curious young kids. Kun stifles a laugh as Johnny looks to the sky before turning on his camera preview and showing off his photos to the group. 

“What are you laughing at, Tang Xiong?” 

“Ah!” Kun yelps, snapping up to see Chenle standing above him, duffle bag in tow. “Sheesh. Look.” Kun nods towards Johnny. “The kids have taken him hostage.” 

Chenle looks out at the court. “Is that Johnny?” 

“Yeah.” 

“He’s tall.” 

“That was my first impression too.” 

“I thought you said he was working? Why are you guys hanging out?” 

“He is working. I’m helping.” 

Chenle gives him a pointed look, which Kun waves away. 

“It’s fine.” 

“If you’re sure.” Chenle hops down on the step below him. “You think he’ll play a game?” 

“I don’t think so.” Kun’s gaze shifts back to the court, right on time for Johnny catching a ball with one hand while holding his camera out of the way. He throws the ball back like it’s burning hot. “Actually, maybe he doesn’t have a choice.” 

“Do you want to join?” 

“I will if he does.” 

“Introduce us, then!” 

Kun strides all too slowly towards Johnny, who’s fleeing the court. Johnny’s eyes flick between him and Chenle, his knuckles turning white where he’s gripping his satchel. 

“This is my cousin, Chenle,” Kun says before Johnny can ask. 

“What’s your favourite NBA team?” Chenle asks in English. 

Johnny blinks. “The Bulls.” 

Chenle turns to Kun and says in Mandarin, “I don’t want to be in a team with him.” 

Kun digs his hands in his pockets. “Chenle wants to know if you’d be up for a game.” 

“Uh,” Johnny looks down at his camera, his clothes. “I don’t think—” 

“I’ll go easy on you, because you’re from Chicago,” Chenle tells him. 

When Johnny looks up again, his eyes burn red hot. “You’re on.” 

**INT. METRO — NIGHT**

Kun is so close to Johnny that he can smell his sweat through his clothes, although that might be his own sweat too. Or someone else’s. 

They’d walked around for hours and hours after playing basketball, enough time for them to air out, especially in 10 degree weather. But now it’s rush hour and there’s too much body heat and body odour around. 

He doesn’t want to look out the same window that Johnny is, so he scrolls through his phone instead. He finds it difficult to focus when Johnny is right there, when Kun can feel the hair near Johnny’s ear against his forehead. 

The train jerks and Kun falls forward, right against Johnny’s chest. He waves his arms in the air, nearly dropping his phone, till he gains the balance to set himself straight. He looks up, scared of what he might find, but Johnny is wearing that small smile that Kun’s seen time and time again since he arrived. 

All Kun has to do is stand on his toes to kiss him. 

“I got an idea,” Johnny says. Kun wonders if Johnny can read his mind for a moment, until Johnny continues, “It’s not strictly in my location list, but I’m sure the boss will appreciate it.” 

“What is it?” 

“What do you do for nightlife around here? That’s not just a bar or a club.” 

Kun doesn’t hesitate. “Karaoke. Technically that’s a bar, too, but my cousins and I always do it sober.” 

“Can we do that?” Johnny tilts his head in a move that is probably not meant to bring his face all that much closer to Kun’s. “There’s a few night scenes and it’ll be nice to have options.” 

“I know a place close to home that does minimum rentals of an hour.” 

Johnny bites his lip. “Or more than an hour.” 

Fuck. “Or. Yeah. That. I’ll, uh,” he holds his phone up, “I’ll call.” 

**EXT. STREET — NIGHT**

They’ve ditched the jackets, despite it being near freezing outside. All Kun has had is a cola, but his blood and adrenaline are pumping overtime and his throat is raw to the point of it being hot. Johnny insisted on eating their mantou on the go, which makes them look like tourists, but Kun doesn’t mind. 

Kun missed Johnny. He missed just having fun with Johnny. 

“You look like a mantou eating a mantou,” Johnny says. 

“No I don’t!” Kun notices the phone camera pointed at him. “Why are you filming me?” 

“I’m sending this to Ten. He’d agree.” 

“He’d agree because he knows it pisses me off.” 

“I’ll exploit anything for instant gratification.” 

Kun sighs, stuffing his face full of two-thirds of a bun, and glares at the camera. Johnny’s eyes go from mischievous to dull, before he puts his phone away. Kun wants to ask what’s wrong, stresses over whether it’s the right time to ask, when it hits him. A memory. 

“You remember that silly old camera you used to carry around?” 

Johnny frowns. “It isn’t silly.” 

“So you still have it?” 

“Not here, no. But I still own it and use it, yes.” 

Kun hums. “I always thought it was way more effort than it was worth.” 

Johnny is silent. Kun can’t tell if he agrees. “You remember how I filmed you through that trip we had?” 

Kun feels his fight or flight response activating. “Yes.” 

“I—“ Johnny laughs humorlessly. “It’s so silly. I actually got it all digitized.” 

“Oh.” Kun stares at nothing. “Wow. Is it any good?” 

“…I have it on me.” 

Kun could laugh. He definitely wants to laugh. It was only appropriate to laugh at the funeral of his peace of mind. 

“Well, now you have to show it to me.” 

**INT. KUN’S SHANGHAI APARTMENT — LIVING ROOM — NIGHT**

Kun sits on one end of the futon, Johnny’s Macbook resting on his calves. He’d offered the TV earlier, but Johnny said he’d already seen it plenty of times and didn’t want to watch it again, so it was just Kun and Johnny’s laptop and Johnny himself sitting on the opposite end of the futon. Kun can tell that, despite the pretence of having his phone out, Johnny is watching him, bouncing a knee and picking at the seam of his jeans. 

It feels the same kind of dream-like that Kun remembers it being, but rather than a fantasy, Kun sees the same tones, the same haze that Kun sees in his own memories. The colours are pale and unreal, and the way things move is slightly too fast, and everything appears in flashes rather than playing out in real time. 

But where he used to think it looked distant, all Kun sees now is him. He’s seen enough pictures of himself to know the specific smile he gives Johnny, and it’s all over this film. Sometimes it’s just a hint, like when his eyes meet the camera lens as he shopped in Target, or when he noticed Johnny filming him while he was hunched over his laptop. Sometimes he’s fighting to hide it, when he receives his Christmas present, or stuffing fries into his mouth. Sometimes it’s glaringly bright as he runs around that frozen beach, or the morning after he first kissed Johnny. There’s no sound, but he can see his mouth moving and his mind supplies, _Get back in bed, Johnny, it’s so cold_. 

But unlike the many photos Johnny’s taken of himself, moving picture means he sees everything else too. The thinness of his neck. The bags under his eyes. How his shoulders almost never relaxed the entire 30-something minutes of film. The many moments that smile of his dropped as he stared at nothing. The open conflict as he let Johnny into his college apartment for the very last time. 

It’s terrifying. Kun has always thought he was subtle, but throughout this film, though he’s happy sometimes, he looks just as small and insecure as he feels in his memory. It’s painfully obvious especially at the end, so much so that he can’t even look away when he and Johnny are clearly kissing in a way they haven’t for over two years. 

Kun snaps the laptop shut when it’s over. Johnny has given up all pretence of focusing on anything else, eyes trepid, fingers splayed on his thigh. 

“That’s a lot of footage,” Kun says. A lot of footage of just him. 

“It was going to be your graduation present.” Johnny’s toying with the seam of his jeans again. “I was going to make it shorter. Only include the parts where you look happy.” 

Kun leans into the back of the futon, shoulder pressing cushion. “But this is all of it.”

“It’s way too much effort to do all of that for— for something no one will ever see.” 

“You got it digitised.” 

Johnny swallows. “I wanted to get rid of it, actually. I couldn’t bring myself to do it. I thought converting it to digital and deleting it would help, but I couldn’t do that either. So I put it in a far corner of my hard drive so I wouldn’t see it. It was so much film. I couldn’t throw it away.” 

Kun feels the same about all the trinkets Johnny has ever given him; all hidden away in a box under the bed, where he can’t see them, but they’re still there. 

“I didn’t realise I was so bad back then,” Kun says. 

“I did.” Johnny rests his head against the wall. “I kept telling myself you’d get yourself through it, so I ignored it. Also for… other selfish reasons, but I knew.” 

Kun can hear everything Johnny isn’t saying. “I’m better now,” Kun tells him. 

“I can tell.” Johnny’s lips curl at the corners. “You seem more like you did when we first became friends.” 

“What was I like when we first became friends?” 

“Self-assured. Grounded. The right amount of confidence. You always knew exactly where you were going, I was so jealous.” 

“You’ve told me this before, but I still can’t believe it.” 

Johnny chuckles. “Not my problem.” 

Kun wraps his arms around his sides and closes his eyes for a moment. “I’ve befriended a CNSA scout.” 

Johnny’s eyes widen, and he pushes away from the wall. “No way.” 

“He visited my regiment a few months ago. I cozied up to him, and yeah. We text sometimes. He treated me to dinner right before my training finished.” 

Johnny snickers, “What, like a date?” 

“No! He has a wife and kids. It was more professional, like what I studied in college, what I’m interested in, that kind of thing. I tried not to seem too eager, but…” Kun trails off. “I haven’t even told my family yet, because nothing’s certain, you know? I don’t want to get them excited.” 

“But that’s great, Kun.” Johnny’s voice slathers him like honey. “That’s still a foot in the door. You’re one step closer to your dream.” 

“Yeah,” Kun says faintly. 

“I know you can get there. I’ve always thought you would. Ever since you first told me what you wanted.” 

“Now you’re just laying it on thick.” 

“I mean it.” 

Kun knows he does. “You were in love with me. I think you’re biased.” 

Johnny’s breath hitches. Kun bites his own tongue, breathes through his nose. “I was. Very in love with you.” 

“I’m sorry.” Kun’s shoulders feel lighter as soon as he says it. “For everything I did. I shouldn’t have kissed you and I shouldn’t have led you on before rejecting you. My head wasn’t in the right place, and I’m sorry you had to deal with that.” 

“It’s not your fault you were spiralling. You didn’t choose to do that. And you’re forgetting that I pushed you, too.” Johnny shuffles forward an inch; still too far. “I knew you weren’t okay, but I still brought up that whole conversation.” 

Kun remembers their conversation about plan Bs in the car, driving past lit-up streets. “You were looking out for me.” 

“I was selfish. Maybe a small part of me thought it would be nice if I could be the one thing in your life that wasn’t stressing you out, but mostly I was selfish.” 

“Everything was stressing me out. Even the good things.” 

“I figured.” Johnny tucks a leg to his chest. “Not immediately. At first I was really, really hurt. And really pissed. But then I just got worried about you.” He hugs his knee tighter. “It’s why I keep checking up on you.” 

“Really?” 

“Really.” 

“That’s… is that why you’re here?” 

Johnny laughs, startled. “Oh my god, no. I really am here to work.” His smile recedes. “I never really— it wasn’t my intention to ever see you again.” 

Kun’s heart drops all the way to his stomach. 

“But I’m glad I did. I’m glad we could talk about this.” Johnny’s cheeks finally — _finally_ — meet his eyes. “I feel a lot better.” 

Kun feels his heart beat all the way to his ears. There’s a question at the tip of his tongue, but he closes his eyes again, takes the time to think, clear his mind, weigh up his options. When he blinks his eyes open again, Johnny looks so warm and relaxed on his couch; Kun decides it’s okay. “Do you still wonder about us?” 

Something flashes across Johnny’s face, but it’s back to normal before Kun can figure them out. “Yeah,” he breathes. “I do wonder. I shouldn’t, but I do.” 

Kun licks his lips. “You don’t have to.” 

He doesn’t move from his seat, keeps his hands firmly around his sides. He waits as the gears in Johnny’s head turn, lets him process the idea at his own pace. 

“No pressure,” Kun adds, just in case. 

Johnny hands grip his knees. Kun can practically see his heart beating a million miles an hour, although Johnny seems otherwise fine. He doesn’t look nervous. Not as nervous as Kun feels anyway. Kun nearly jumps when Johnny reaches forward and places his hands on the laptop between them and puts it on the ground next to him. 

“Can I kiss you?” Johnny asks, when he looks back up. 

And because Kun was expecting it, he replies at lightning speed. “Yes.” 

Johnny crawls over on his hands and knees, snakes one arm behind Kun and presses their lips together and — yeah, this feels good. Lots of happy hormones in Kun’s brain. Kun chases when Johnny pulls away, which has Johnny laughing, then Kun laughing, their foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. 

“Wanna keep going?” Kun whispers. 

Johnny twines their fingers together and leans back, pulling Kun onto his lap. They meet halfway, Kun cradling Johnny’s cheek, Johnny’s fingers running through his hair, again and again and again until they nearly fall backwards. Kun braces hands against the futon, but Johnny, the idiot, braces himself around Kun, and pulls them both back until Kun is flush against his chest. He can feel Johnny’s heartbeat under his hand, beating to the same tempo as his. 

“Wow,” Johnny breathes. 

Kun grins against his shirt. He’s content to lie like this for the rest of the night, doing absolutely nothing. 

“This would be much more comfortable on a bed.” 

Or they could do that. 

**CUT TO:**

**INT. KUN’S SHANGHAI APARTMENT — KUN’S BEDROOM — NIGHT**

Johnny bursts out laughing at the sight of the A2 Yang Liwei printout. “God, I knew this was going to be here, but I wasn’t prepared.” 

“He’s a hero!” Kun protests. 

“Yeah, but he’s staring right at me. How do you deal with that?” 

“He’s telling me that he believes in me.” 

Johnny laughs behind his hands as he moves around the room, observing model planes, the Jolin posters — he stares far too long at the Shanghai airport cleavage one — and the odd childhood photo. “Where’s your Jay Chou shrine?” he jokes. 

Kun shuts his bedroom door. “Here.” 

It’s a bunch of printouts and posters of Jay Chou and a (badly) handmade cloverleaf knot pinned above it, and Johnny is hunched over, wheezing. Kun has to catch him before he rolls onto the floor, but Kun can barely hold it in himself. 

“Don’t laugh!” he complains between his own laughter. 

“What,” Johnny wheezes, “What is this thing?” He thumbs the knot. “Is this spiritual?” 

“I just made it in school.” 

“God, Kun.” Johnny rests his head against Kun’s shoulder, and Kun lets him get over himself before he turns his head and noses Johnny’s cheek, places a long, slow kiss behind his ear, exactly where he likes it. He grins as Johnny gasps, feels him take a deep breath as Kun’s teeth grazes skin. 

“I’m not sure how I’m going to get it up with the first Chinese astronaut in space watching me so intently,” Johnny says. 

“He believes in you, too.” 

Kun pulls Johnny’s sweater off as he leads him back, back, until he can push Johnny onto his bed. He tries not to laugh at the awe in Johnny’s face as he crawls over him and presses a quick, close-mouthed kiss against his lips and works his way down, undoing Johnny’s shirt buttons one at a time kissing every sliver of skin he can get to. At some point, Johnny’s hands snake through to take off the rest, but Kun grabs his wrist. 

“No,” Kun pouts. 

Johnny’s eyes fluttered. “It was really hot when you grabbed my wrist like that, but with that pout…” 

“Be quiet or I’ll stop.” 

“Try that again, but with a straight face.” 

Kun hides his smile in Johnny’s abdomen, fighting off the protests of “that tickles!” to pull the rest of his shirt away. He sucks on the space below Johnny’s navel, where his hair leads down to his waistband, halting Johnny’s giggles. Johnny’s hips buck upwards and Kun arches his back to move with it. 

Johnny watches him, neck craned. He looks ridiculous from Kun’s angle, but with Johnny’s bulge under his hands, he can’t find him anything but attractive. “Are you going to take your shirt off, too?” 

“Your shirt isn’t off, just open,” Kun points out. He runs two fingers firm down the zipper of Johnny’s jeans, watches his eyes roll back and his bottom lip disappear between his teeth. 

The details of how he got from there to Johnny sitting on his lap, hips slapping in an irregular rhythm, don’t matter. He remembers everything bright as day, but the ones he’ll keep returning to are pausing what they were doing because their particular position reminded Johnny of a meme, Kun panicking for five minutes because the condoms in his side table drawer are expired (he found a good one in an odd pocket of one of his backpacks), and Kun getting to leave small kisses against Johnny’s knuckles while Johnny adjusts to his size. 

And he’ll return to right now — when Johnny’s gazing at him like he has something to say, and Kun feels the same words on his own tongue (but it’s not a good time, not when the surplus of oxytocin in their brains would cheapen it). Johnny’s eyes blink shut and he buries his face into Kun’s neck. 

“I’m close,” he whispers. 

Kun reaches between them and thumbs the head of Johnny’s cock, spreading precum up and down his shaft. “Don’t hold back on my behalf.” 

“But I wanna cum together,” Johnny whines. 

Kun chuckles. “Baby, we can always do that another time.” 

Johnny’s arms wrap around his neck and Kun feels like he might suffocate if Johnny holds him any tighter. It’s not too much longer before Johnny is coming onto Kun’s abdomen, moaning into his mouth, his biceps squeezing around Kun’s neck and making his head swim. Kun uses every vestige of his consciousness to slow to a stop, but Johnny drags a finger through the cum on Kun’s body and lifts it to Kun’s mouth. 

“Fuck,” Kun sighs. 

“Keep going.” 

Kun yanks Johnny’s hand out of his mouth and presses his forehead against Johnny’s sternum, grabbing his hips and fucking into him faster than he thought anatomically possible. Johnny makes small noises of pain, but the circles Johnny is drawing into his forearm encourages him to keep going. His mind goes dark, then hot white as he hits his climax, mindlessly sucking bruises onto Johnny’s chest while Johnny murmurs how good that feels in his ear, how full he is, even though there’s a condom in the way. When he comes to, he chooses to stay resting against Johnny, catching his breath. 

He has to pull away eventually. He looks up at Johnny’s droopy eyes, struggling to stay open; Johnny can barely stay upright, either. Kun runs a hand up his arm. “Sleepy?” 

“Yeah.” Johnny yawns. “What time is it?” 

Kun glances at the clock on his wall. “Just past midnight.” He squints at the small digital screen with the date on it, then gasps. “Oh my god. Happy birthday.” 

“Birthday?” Johnny frowns at Kun. After a few seconds, his mouth forms an ‘o’. “Holy shit. I completely forgot about my birthday.” 

“I don’t know why I thought you wouldn’t be here for it. Maybe I just assumed your flight was in the morning and you’d be gone by now.” 

“How the hell did I not realise I’d be here for my birthday? Like, I saw the tickets. I double-checked so many times.” 

“You probably had a lot on your mind.” 

Johnny’s eyes find his, sleepy but happy. “Yeah. I did.” 

Kun leans up and kisses him long and slow, relishing the way Johnny melts against him. Johnny’s drowsiness must’ve been infectious, because suddenly Kun is yawning against his mouth, forcing Johnny to lean back and laugh. “Clean me up so we can sleep,” he giggles, patting Kun’s thigh. “I’ll be big spoon.” 

Kun doesn’t follow instructions, just nuzzles back into Johnny’s chest instead. “Whatever you want, Johnny. I’m happy.” 

**INT. KUN’S SHANGHAI APARTMENT — KUN’S BEDROOM — NIGHT**

Kun wakes at five in the morning like he has learnt to do when he has the day to himself. Normally, he’d give himself exactly half an hour before he’s out of bed, getting ready to leave for his morning run. All of those plans are cancelled today, because Johnny is draped against his back, his hair tickling Kun’s bare shoulder. Kun adjusts himself as best he can so he’s lying on his back, pulling Johnny’s heavy body against his chest. Johnny’s light snoring stops for a while, but Kun places a hand on his hair, and he’s in dreamland again. 

Kun listens for the voices in his head telling him he made a mistake, but there are none. He doesn’t know if it’s just the hormones, but everything about this feels like a huge relief. He has so, so many questions, but they feel answerable. Some answers he might even already have. 

So Kun stays in bed, awake, despite his shoulder falling asleep, despite Johnny’s light snoring turning into pretty loud snoring. It’s disgusting how he finds it endearing when he used to complain so much about how loud his Baba was when he was a child. 

At some point, he drifts back to sleep. He doesn’t know how long he’s out because he hasn’t been checking the time, but he can tell Johnny’s awake by the way his breath is fanning out onto Kun’s skin. 

“Do you have work to do today?” Kun asks lowly. 

“Mm.” Johnny snuggles into his chest. “Your breath stinks.” 

Kun flicks his forehead. “Too bad.” 

Johnny laughs. “Yeah, I have work today. Just for the morning, though.” 

“I’ll come with you. We’ll do birthday lunch somewhere nice.” 

“Cute.” 

“I try.” 

Johnny traces the muscles of his abdomen, and Kun’s chest puffs at the memory of Johnny praising his military-built body the night before. “Where do we go from here?” 

Kun’s chest fizzles out. “What do you mean?” 

“Us. This.” Johnny moves past his abs to finger the ribs on his side. “I’m not staying here, and you’ll never come back to America. I don’t mind the distance, but I don’t know if you—” 

“I love you,” Kun interrupts. Johnny’s finger stops what it was doing and hovers over his body. “I’ll love you regardless of where in the world you are. I’ll put up with the distance if I have to.” Kun tugs gently at Johnny’s ear. “Besides, even if you did live here, I’m going to spend most of my time deployed, or working my way into space. Heck, if I ever have the fortune of going to Mars, you wouldn’t see me for years.” 

Kun’s heart beats way too many times before Johnny is turning his head and burying his face in his dead shoulder. “You have a point.” 

“I’d rather be in a relationship with you halfway across the world than not be with you at all.” 

“Me too.” Johnny gets up on his forearms and hovers above Kun. “I love you.” 

Kun grins. “I know. Brush your teeth before you kiss me, I know you want to.” 

Johnny groans and rolls onto his back, pulling a laughing Kun with him. “Then I will go back to sleep.” 

Kun kisses his shoulder. “Stay in bed, then. I need to stretch out.” He pulls the covers away and searches for a fresh pair of boxers, only to rush back to bed and tuck Johnny back in bed when the elder cusses him out. He throws Johnny’s shirt on on the way out. 

“I like my eggs as a stuffed omelette! My favourite stuffings are—” 

“I remember!” 

“Of course you do, you sap.” 

Rich, Kun thinks. 

The dreaded question hits Kun halfway to the kitchen: is this all a mistake? Is this going to blow up in his face? 

His cousins will probably tell him it will. Their mutual friends will probably tell him it will. Maybe Johnny will change his mind one day, too. But it’s better than wondering, he decides. It’s better to let something run its course than to wonder. Heck, he’ll even pull the star map Johnny left him with out of that bottom drawer, pull that boutonniere out of its box under the bed and wear it to lunch, because what is he afraid of anymore? If it doesn’t work out, it doesn’t work out — but if it does, it’ll be a dream. 

Kun sees his phone on the dining table and swipes it on, surprised to see it hanging on to dear life at 5% battery. There’s a new text from Brigadier General Wang, his friend at the space agency: ‘ _How are you? I believe you’d be in Shanghai by now, wouldn’t you? Whenever you have time, I have a friend I’d like you to meet._ ’ 

Kun presses his phone to his chest. He holds it out just to read the message again, and then places it on the table, face down. He probably shouldn’t leave Brigadier General Wang on read, but he needs time to calm down. 

He’ll get there. He can feel it deep in his bones; he’ll get there. 

**FADE OUT.**

**THE END**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Big, BIG thank you to Natasha, Mel and M for beta-ing this for me!  
> [Twitter](https://twitter.com/singledadjohnny) || [Curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/singledadjohnny)


End file.
